Mother
by Lavendulan
Summary: Ninten, a psychic boy, leaves on a journey to find the cause of a phenomenon that occurred in his home. He later meets other kids who join him on his quest. The friends realize they are faced with something far greater than first imagined, and they must discover a power greater than PSI to stop it. I do not own Mother 1 or any of it's characters. Copyright goes to Shigesato Itoi.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Young, 25 year old George McCray strolled down the cobblestone paths of the city upbeat and full of energy. As a reporter of the city newspaper, he'd just gathered what was probably the greatest scoop in American history. The president sure had a heck of a past, and now it was all going down on paper, and soon, onto people's doorsteps. There was no way Larry Dwight, the editing officer, could reject this article. Especially knowing how famous his newspaper would become. George could just picture the headlines-front page no doubt. Boy, would he make history!

The small bundle of jingle bells on the doorframe tinkled jovially as George stepped into the editing office. He let the door slam noisily behind him, and the bells jingled ever more vigorously, echoing George's jumble of emotions. Ignoring the raised eyebrows from Larry Dwight, George strode over to the desk with a bundle of papers held triumphantly over his head. He smacked them down on the editors desk, causing a name panel labeled _Larry S. Dwight_ to blow to the ground. George opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. He bent to pick up the name panel and place it back on the desk, feeling a little embarrassed. Nevertheless, George proceeded to speak as if nothing had happened.

"You asked for front-page material, you got it! Right here! Right here, I tell ya!" He jabbed a finger into the stack of papers tied gift-box fashion with twine. Undaunted by George's outburst, Larry reached for the papers and leaned back in his leather-bound chair. Withdrawing a small pocketknife, he severed the string and brushed it nonchalantly to the oak floor. Snapping the papers upright, he began to study the text. George watched in growing suspense as Larry took long drags from his pipe and puffed a set of perfect rings into the still air. It was a trick that still boggled George's mind after seeing his grandfather do it a great many times as a boy. Larry shuffled and reshuffled the papers, his eyebrows raising in surprise, then furrowing in thought. At last, he glanced up and tossed the papers back onto the desk. He didn't say anything.

"Well?" George asked after a few seconds.

"It's. . . an interesting topic," Larry replied. "But I'm not so sure how the public would handle something like this. I'm not even sure what to think of it."

"It's some of the president's deepest, darkest secrets! You know how there's all those myths and rumors about the government. . . this is the real deal!" George jabbed the papers three more times.

Larry stared at him for a few seconds before responding."You know George, you never disappoint me when you walk into this office. You always have a good story that gets people talking. But. . . well, the president's past. . . don't you at least think that's going a little overboard? It isn't something I would want to read first thing in the morning."

"But Larry, it's a great story. People always love something to gossip about!"

Larry turned sideways in his chair and stared intently at the wall. George half expected holes to suddenly burn right through it, the editor's gaze was so intense. Finally, he slowly turned back around, avoiding any eye contact.

"I'll see what I can do."

The next morning, George awoke to loud rapping on the front door to his home. That was odd, usually the paper boys didn't come up to people's houses when delivering the newspaper. The newspaper! He had to see if he made the front page! Scrambling out of bed and nearly tripping over his shoes, he opened the door to the face of a boy who looked to be about fourteen.

"Mr. McCray? Sorry if I woke you, but I have a message from Mr. Dwight. He'd like to speak with you in his office this morning. Anyway, here's your newspaper, sir." The boy handed a thick bundle of newspaper to George and bounded down the steps, tossing newspapers onto other doorsteps.

George walked back into the house and slipped the paper out of the string. He spread it out on the kitchen table and stared in awe at the front page. It read:

Tuesday, September 7, 1895 The Daily Times

PRESIDENT'S DARK PAST REVEALED!

By George McCray

Yes! It made the front page! It was all that George had hoped for. Maybe his life wouldn't completely tumble downhill. After he'd graduated high school, George got a job as a paper boy instead of going to college, which had worked out fine. However, he would often begin to dream of writing his own stories for the newspaper. His curiosity led him to gather many scoops on his own, and this one had to be the greatest yet. Soon, he would be top reporter, and live up to his dream.

George ran his fingers over the neatly printed words-his words-and smiled to himself. Gulping down the remainder of his black coffee, he grabbed his hat and jacket, slipped into his shoes, and headed out the door.

It was a lovely morning, and the sun was shining. The heat of August had all but dissipated, and George wished he hadn't worn his jacket. Well, there's no changing the past! Besides, he was way more interested in hearing what people had to say about his article, and they were talking! Walking down the street he could overhear some people's conversations:

"Tom, you gotta see this." A burly man leaning against a lamppost gestured to another man walking out of a shop.

"Oh, I know it Raymond. That's. . . quite a story there," Tom replied.

George continued walking and came upon two elderly ladies window shopping outside a candy shop.

"Oh, Nell, remember at Christmastime when we would sneak all those peppermint sticks from off the goodie platter and eat 'em all? I sure did love those things."

"Oh yes Millie. That was so long ago, yet I remember it like yesterday. But, oh, if I ate one of those now, I'd probably break off the rest of my teeth! But say, Mildred, you hear that news about the president?" Nell glanced at her friend, whose eyes were still fixed to the peppermints.

"Well, no! Is it something bad?" Mildred turned to look at Nell, wearing an anxious expression.

"Well, I can't say it's _not_ bad. I mean, It got me pretty worried myself when I read it. It was a lot of odd stuff about the president's past. . . Not so sure it's all true, though. Could just be poppycock. . ."

"Oh, it's true all right," George interrupted their conversation. "I'm George McCray, by the way."

Nell furrowed her eyebrows, repeating the name on her lips, until she suddenly looked up in recognition. "Oh, you're the man who wrote the article! I knew the name sounded vaguely familiar. That's quite a story. . . You've really got people talking!"

"Yes, well I appreciate you ladies' interest. I'm off to go speak to the editor myself, so good day to you!" George tipped his hat to them and continued walking down the street.

"Oh, such a kind young lad. Reminds me of a young man I once knew. . ." Nell trailed off as she and Mildred continued walking, stopping to admire the goods on the shelves.

"Well, Larry, what'd I tell ya! This newspaper's going to be bigger than it's ever been!" _And so will I_, George thought to himself. He was once again standing before Larry's desk in the editing office.

"Oh, people are talking alright. Can't say its all good though." Larry fingered the pipe resting in the corner of his mouth.

"Wait. . . what do you mean?" Could people really be talking bad about his article?

"George, a lot of city folk seem to think that we're up to no good."

"But sir, I was just talking to-"

"And I don't mean everyone, George. Don't take it that way. Some people understand it for what you intended. But I just. . . I don't. . ." Larry paused, visibly trying to find the right words. He took out his pipe and suspended it between his thumb and forefinger. "Well, you sure got your amount of fame I suppose." He let out a short chuckle.

"This isn't just about the article is it, Larry?" George could already feel his cheeks go hot. "You think I wrote it because I. . . because I wanted fame?" George suddenly felt weak, somewhat because that was partly true.

"No, no, no, George. . . well, yes I do, but that's nothing that bothers me. All reporters want to be the one with the big scoop. It's how this one will affect the newspaper as a whole that concerns me. Like I said, too many people think you're up to no good. . ."

George jolted awake as a loud thud on the front door brought him out of his dream. It had been a year since he'd walked out of the printing press building. Too many people had not appreciated his work, and he would've been acting in vain writing more articles with that reputation. Rising from his bed, and stepping gingerly over his shoes, he went to retrieve the daily newspaper.

Sitting at the table, sipping black coffee, George read over the headlines. They were all the usual events and occurrences- _A Leap Into The Future: Automobiles Take A New Turn!, Robbery On Main Street!, Buy Now While Stocks Last!_ He sighed, flipped the page, and took another sip of coffee, nearly choking on it as something in a third page column caught his eye.

HELP WANTED

Podunk Times local newspaper needs  
writers and editors. Please visit the  
editing office if interested.

George was more than interested. This was a golden opportunity for him. It was time he got over being depressed about an incident that happened a year ago, and move on with his life.

Podunk? It was a town that George estimated to be about a few hours away if he traveled by train. For now, he didn't really mind taking the trip to and from the city. Once he earned enough money, he'd look at buying a house in the town. George didn't like the idea of moving, but if it meant work, it was well worth it. Especially if he could once again write for a newspaper.

George looked up when he heard the train whistle blow long and hollow. Smiling to himself, he confirmed that he would make the journey to Podunk first thing the next morning.

The train station was a madhouse as George awaited the train's arrival. He was thankful that he'd decided to get up extra early so he could avoid the mile-long lines at the ticket booths. However, there was no avoiding the pushy attitudes of many rude, impatient city folk. It was all hustle and bustle these days.

After being pushed aside without so much as an "excuse me, sir," for about the twentieth time, George could finally see the puffs of smoke billowing from the train. The huge locomotive chugged slowly into the station, screeched to a stop, and whooshed out steam. Men hopped out of the coaches and held doors open for the passengers, taking everyone's tickets.

Clutching his brown leather briefcase, George made his way to the nearest door, and after handing his ticket over, leaped up the steps into the coach. Scanning the maroon, leather booths for an open seat, he finally spotted one towards the back. A middle-aged man reading a book occupied the seat next to the window, however, the space beside him was empty. George made his way toward him.

"Pardon me, sir, but is it okay if I sit here?" George asked as the man looked up from his volume. He grunted and made a quick nod, shuffling closer to the window to give George some space.

"Thank you. I'm George," George said, holding out his hand as he sat down next to him.

"Vincent," the man replied, taking George's hand and shaking it firmly. He let go and adjusted his spectacles before turning back to his book.

George debated whether he should start a conversation, but voted not, since Vincent seemed immensely engrossed in that book. George managed to catch a quick glance at the cover, which the bore the title: _Anderson's Theories on Psychic Phenomena._

Psychic phenomena? That was sure an odd thing to be interested in. Especially as interested as Vincent appeared to be. He looked like he was at the climax of a murder mystery novel. Weird. Oh, well! He shouldn't be judging other people's interests. If Vincent enjoyed reading about psychic phenomena as a hobby, then so be it.

Suddenly the train lurched forward twice, and the whistle blew loud and clear. They were off! Soon, hopefully, George would begin his new job; his new life. He turned his head to look out the window on the opposite side of the train. As the train left the station, he watched buildings pass by at a growing speed, almost until they all seemed muddled together. Eventually the city thinned out and the countryside brought on a much clearer image. George gazed out at the grass and trees. It was September once again and the grass was long and beginning to take on a golden hue. As tall as the grass was, however, the occasional white head of a Queen Ann's Lace could still be spotted standing tall and confident overhead.

After a while, he became bored of the scenery and focused his attention on the people around him. He watched a cheery little girl with rosy cheeks and black curls play with her doll, which also had black curls. Her brother, who looked about the same age suddenly snatched the doll away and started swinging it back and forth by it's hands.

_"Heeeyyy!"_ The girl whined at her brother. "That's _mine!_" She reached for the doll, but her brother held it further away.

A woman, whom George assumed to be their mother, scolded them quietly before addressing the boy. "Now, Benjamin, be a gentleman and give the doll back to your sister."

George's eyes wandered to a pair of young women who were comparing their dainty silk handbags, and then to a group of men who were poring over a newspaper, arguing about something in hushed, yet firm voices.

_Probably politics,_ George thought. Losing interest, he turned his head toward the ceiling, letting his mind wander from one thing to the next: Last year's unfortunate incident. Yesterday's fortunate one. This morning's hustle and bustle. Vincent and psychic phenomena. The beautiful, yet plain countryside. The rumbling vibration of the train wheels underfoot. The-

Suddenly Vincent nudged his arm. "Er- George? 'Scuse me, but I gotta use the restroom."

"Oh, no problem!" As George stepped out of the booth to let Vincent out, he noticed _Anderson's Theories on Psychic Phenomena_ lying closed on the seat where Vincent had been. George couldn't help being intrigued. As soon as the other man was out of sight, he sat back down and ran his fingers over the gold lettering inscribed on the green clothbound cover. He lifted the cover just a notch, then stopped. What was he thinking? It was Vincent's book. He shouldn't be nosing around in other people's things. His curiosity got the best of him though, and he flipped the book open to where Vincent had it bookmarked.

It was a section on telepathy, or transfer of messages and thoughts between minds. He flipped a few a few pages backward, towards the beginning. There were the typical wonders of telekinesis and levitation stated as bold headings before a passage of text. George picked up the whole volume and began flipping through the pages, starting from the back.

In the back, headings on more complex phenomena flashed by his eyes. _Teleportation, pyrokinesis, psychic healing, psychic shields. . ._ George was fascinated as the jumble of words and diagrams flashed before his eyes. He jumped suddenly as the door to the restroom creaked open and Vincent stepped out. George quickly closed the book, and set it back down on the seat. He then pretended to be preoccupied with a loose button on his jacket.

When Vincent reached the booth and nudged him, George looked up casually and said, "Oh, pardon me, Vincent, sir," and stepped out of the booth to let him back in.

When George sat down, he caught Vincent stuffing the book into his gray shoulder-bag, slinging the bag over his shoulder. For a second he thought it was because Vincent had caught him sneaking a peek through the book, and was putting it away to keep him from doing it again. However, the conductor announced that they would be pulling into Podunk shortly. He exhaled in relief.

Outside, the scenery hadn't changed much. Trees seemed to be more plentiful, however, as well as gurgling creeks and beds of wildflowers.

The train station in Podunk was much more cheerful than the one in the city. There were small, white cafes and trinket stores alongside the tracks, and colorful baskets of flowers hung from posts on the ceiling overhang. The train screeched to a stop, and everyone stood up, shuffling into the aisle.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Vincent," George said as they stepped off the train.

Vincent tipped his hat to George before mingling with the crowd. George began walking in the opposite direction, when it suddenly occurred to him that he didn't know where he was going. He entered one of the cafes to ask a manager.

The cafe was small, and vacant for the most part. A group of elderly men were seated around a table conversing, and a record player was running in a corner. George strode over to the man at the counter, who looked up when he approached.

"Excuse me, but would you mind telling me where the editing office for the _Podunk Times_ is located?"

"Oh, of course! Once you get off the station here, just head for the square, and it will be one of the corner buildings. Its not too difficult to find. Are you lookin' in to getting a job there?" The manager questioned. "Oh, and I'm Jack by the way."

"I'm George. And yes, I'm hoping to get some sort of job there. I saw the ad in the newspaper."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it. Make sure you stop by often for some coffee. Everyone here knows Jack's is the best! I'm hoping to keep this business up and pass it to my kids, and they can pass it to theirs. That way, anybody ninety years from now can enjoy Jack's top-o-the-line coffee!"

"Alright, I'll make sure of that. And thanks for helping me out." George began walking back to the entrance.

"Oh, its no problem. This town's glad to have you. And I-" Jack cut off as the record player got stuck. It was playing the same few notes over and over again. He shouted to one of the men at the table.

"Benny! Give that thing a kick will ya?"

"Do you want me to help? I can-" George began to offer.

"Oh, no. Don't bother with it. It does this all the time." Jack marched toward the record player.

George nodded and opened the door to leave.

"Good luck!" Jack called as George stepped out of the cafe.

Just as Jack had said, the newspaper building was not very far, and George couldn't wait to get the job. He stopped in front of the building to adjust his jacket, and walked inside.

"Well, good morning sir, how may I help you?" A deep, but friendly voice asked from a front desk. "Ronald Turner," the man said, holding out his hand.

George strode over to the desk. "Good morning to you too. I'm George McCray, and I am hoping to apply for a job in the company. I used to write for a newspaper up in the city, but left that job a while ago. I might plan to move down here where it's a bit quieter, but would like to write for a newspaper again. I saw the ad just yesterday."

"Well, I am so glad to hear that, George, and very pleased to meet you. I must say that I have heard a lot about you, and read some of your articles. You've definitely got talent. This paper needs writers, and since you have had experience with writing in the past, hell, for the _city,_ I would be proud to employ you."

George was astonished. "Oh, but sir, do you need to look at my resume, or-"

"Say nothing. You're hired. All's I need is a good story that will fit the pages. You got the stuff."

"Well, alright. I'll get back to you as soon as possible. And thank you."

"Oh no. Thank _you_ for paying mind to our small trouble. It was truly wonderful for someone to have interest in our little town. You come back with something good, you hear?"

"Oh, yes sir. I will." George shook hands with Ronald once again, not believing how easy that was. This town was either so desperate for newspaper writers, or this was his fate.

He walked out of the building, smiling. Things would start to look up. But what was there to write on? Surely there were things about the economy and such, but he wanted to write something different; special. Something everyone would enjoy reading when they woke up in the morning. Well, he did have all day. He would think of something.

Podunk was such a cheerful town. It seemed that everyone truly cared about one another. Whenever someone asked another person how they were doing, they really did want to know. It was different in the city. Asking someone how they were doing was simply a passive greeting. There were just too many people there, and you could only _know_ so many.

George thought about this as he strolled through town; introducing himself, and getting to know the townsfolk. Podunk appeared to have been brought right out of a storybook. Humble, yet elegant white homes lined the dusty dirt roads. There were markets of fresh produce, and a small school where boys were roughhousing in the dirt, and girls were admiring their dolls on the front steps. At the end of one lane stood a tiny white church. It looked so angelic with it's slender steeple reaching for the blue sky, and the cherry blossom trees rising up on either side.

He was about to turn away, when something else caught his eye. A small, white figure out in the meadow a little ways from town. Whatever could it be? Having become especially curious, George set out for the meadow.

As George drew closer, the figure became clearer. It was, in fact, a young woman. She was dressed in a snow-white gown with an equally white sun hat. Her shiny blonde hair hung in light curls down her back. She was kneeled in front of a bed of bright pink flowers, sketching lightly on a canvas.

"Carnations, am I right?" George inquired as he approached the woman, who looked up, startled. She was very beautiful. Her eyes were a bright, clear blue with long lashes.

"Well, yes. You are correct." She turned away. It seemed like she didn't know quite what to say.

"They were my grandmother's favorite, if I recall," George continued. "That is a very nice picture you're sketching there. Mind if I take a look?"

"Oh, no, I don't mind. But may I ask you your name? I don't believe I've seen you here before," She handed the partially sketched picture to George.

"Oh! Where are my manners? I'm George. George McCray. I'm from the city, but I got a job here for the newspaper. I'm considering moving down here as well." George took a moment to admire the sketch. "My, my, this is marvelous! Where did you ever learn to draw like this? Oh, and may I ask you your name as well?"

"Yes, of course. I'm Maria Caldwell. I've been drawing all my life, and I'd say it's a gift. I especially love to draw flowers, as you can see. Carnations are my absolute favorite. You say they were your grandmother's favorite as well?"

"Oh yes, she had beds of them all around her house. Pink ones, just like those." George gestured to the flowers.

"What about your mother? Did she like them also?"

"My mother. . . she. . . died when I was very young, along with my father. I'm afraid I hardly remember them." George suddenly felt sad. He didn't know anything about his parents, nor had he ever really thought to learn about them.

Maria blushed in embarrassment. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"No, don't be. It was a long time ago, and- Oh! Speaking of time, I'm going to be late for my train! I'm so sorry, Maria, it was a pleasure meeting you, and I will be seeing you again?" George handed the canvas back to Maria.

"It was a pleasure to meet you as well. I come out to this meadow often, so you might find me here. And. . . well, it's a small town. I'm sure we'll run into each other again." Maria stood up, smoothing her dress.

"Well, have a nice evening." George made a slight bow.

"You too." Maria smiled and curtsied.

On the train ride back, George tried to think about what he should write for the newspaper. However, his mind kept wandering back to Maria. There was something about her that George truly admired. He just didn't quite know what it was.

He hadn't encountered Vincent on this trip back. Him and his odd interest in psychic phenomena. George thought that was a good thing, for he might catch himself stealing more glances at the content of the book. What an interesting day. . .

George soon fell asleep, dreaming about Maria in the meadow, sketching a bed of bright pink carnations.

A couple of years passed, and George became more familiar with the people of Podunk. He continued to see Maria, and in the summer of 1899, they were married in the angelic little church surrounded by cherry blossoms. George built them a nice little house a small ways outside of town, and Maria had planted two large beds of carnations out front. The house was very beautiful and welcoming.

As for the newspaper, George was enjoying his new job just as much as the townsfolk were enjoying his writing. He had decided to write a novel on the history of the town up until the present day, with illustrations drawn by his wife, Maria. Everyone would smile and laugh, and sometimes even cry to the events that were happening in the story, as they brought back memories and made people truly appreciate their town's past.

George and Maria had three children. Henry was the oldest by two and a half years. Then came the twins, William and Sophia. Henry had George's dark hair, but his mother's eyes. He was very outgoing and talkative. He would sometimes be a troublemaker at school, deserving extra chores from his parents.

Sophia would smile all the time as a mere infant. She had inherited most of her mother's traits, with blonde hair and long-lashed blue eyes. By the time she was five, Sophia was already acting very ladylike, and would often want to help Maria sew an enormous patchwork quilt. Maria was making it as a family keepsake, which would be passed on from generation to generation.

William was different. He was a near mirror image of George, with dark hair and equally dark eyes. William was very shy, and would almost never smile. While his twin sister, Sophia, was beginning to say words such as 'mama' and 'please', William wouldn't even make a sound. His parents didn't show any concern for a while. After a couple of years, however, when William still would not speak, George and Maria were beginning to wonder if he was physically unable to talk at all. They were considering calling in a doctor, but decided not to. They didn't want to scare William, or force him into speaking. They decided that it was best to just give the boy some time. Mute or not, he was their son, and they loved him.

Life continued to go on peacefully until one day, when an ominous black shadow, like a cloud, settled over the town. A series of strange incidents were beginning to happen. Common household objects such as dishes, pillows, and lamps started flying around; undoubtably terrifying people all over town.

Soon, people began to go missing, causing others to be scared of even leaving home alone. A group of school children who were hiking in the forest vanished as well, and all three of George and Maria's children were included in the group. The news brought tears and panic upon the townspeople, and although George attempted to calm Maria from her sobbing, he, himself, felt just as frightened as she. However, not unlike the previous incident, all of the schoolchildren returned home the next day as if nothing had ever happened. However, something _did_ change in the McCray family.

When all three children were safe and sound back in their home, life proceeded to go on as they had once known. This was until the day that William spoke for the first time. He spoke complete sentences in perfect English. George and Maria, as well as the other two siblings were utterly shocked at first. But soon, they were excited for William, and relieved that he could talk after all. This wasn't the only strange and unexpected event though. One evening, when the family was sitting down for dinner, Sophia accidentally knocked her cup of milk off the table. The milk splashed down onto the wood panels, but the cup never clattered after it. It was, in fact, suspended in midair just above the floor. Everyone had gasped at the sight. Everyone except William, who was staring very intently at the cup as it rose up to the table, and settled back into place in front of the bewildered Sophia.

The first thing that came to George's mind was Vincent's book of psychic phenomena. Although it was years ago, he still remembered flipping through the pages, watching the jumble of bold headings. Could his son really have been using telekinesis on the cup? Did this have anything to do with the children's brief disappearance? Should he be afraid? So many questions were going through George's mind that it was difficult to focus. No, he shouldn't be afraid of William. He was his son. But George was almost positive that this sudden turn of events had everything to do with their disappearance. He decided to ask his kids if they remembered anything at all.

"Henry, I know you have been asked this before, but are you sure that you don't remember anything, anything at all, from the trip up to mountain?" George asked one evening after dinner.

"Well, no, Father. Not anything unusual. All I remember is hiking around in the forest and then coming back. It seemed perfectly normal to me, but when we got back, everyone was crying. I don't understand." Henry began to look stressed and confused.

"Don't worry, Henry, it's okay. Sophia and William don't remember anything either?"

"No, they don't. They kept asking me why you and Mother were crying. Nobody at school remembers. People say that we were gone for an entire night. . . I just don't see how that can be possible. We were only gone for about half an hour."

"It's alright, son, I just want to make sure you're okay." Just like the children, George couldn't understand either. He didn't understand why the children could not remember anything. He didn't understand what was going on with William. He didn't even understand why any of this was happening.

The next morning, the children woke up to an empty house. George and Maria were nowhere to be seen. Trying not to panic, Henry led the younger two to the closest neighbor's house. They cried for their parents, and the entire town prayed for their safety. However, unlike previous incidences, George and Maria did not come back the next day. Or the next. Or the next. An entire two years passed before anyone heard from them again. Then, one day, much to people's surprise, George entered town from the direction of the forest. His hair had become white and his eyes were dull. He did not speak, and wore a very grim expression. The townsfolk were delighted that their long-lost friend had returned, but were shocked at his appearance and his unusual new personality. He stayed in his house, and would often refuse to see anyone who came to visit. Even when close friends came, he would not say anything about where he had been or what had happened. He never spoke about what became of Maria, and the townsfolk never had the hearts to ask him.

George did not return to the _Podunk Times_. There were times where he would shut himself up in his house, and become immersed in researching cryptic riddles and psychic powers. Other times, he would pack up his things, and leave town on journeys which sometimes lasted for a few weeks, and others a few months. Rumors spread around town about what he did on these 'expeditions,' but as the years passed, they seemed to die down. However, even through the passing times, the townsfolk hadn't forgotten that George's wife, Maria, never did return home.

As the seasons kept changing, so did the little town of Podunk. The town began expanding, larger buildings and schools were built, and a baseball field was added. George and Maria's house was renovated and the carnation beds replanted. Then, there lived George and Maria's great-grandson, along with his mother and younger twin sisters. Together, they carried on happy, peaceful lives, as the townsfolk once had.

However, in the summer of 1988, the black cloud settled once again above the town of Podunk, which begins yet another story. . .


	2. Chapters 1-2

Chapter 1

The crowd cheers as I hit the winning home run. One swing, and the ball is out of the park. As I whip around the bases, I catch my mom and younger sister Minnie standing and clapping in the crowded bleachers. My other sister, Mimmie, is sitting and sulking, with a doll wedged between her and her crossed arms. Typical Mimmie. She and Minnie are identical twins, but to me, they're nothing alike. Mimmie hates having to go to my baseball games, and always complains about the crowds, the hot metal bleachers, how bored she is, and so on. Mom makes her go anyway. But just to be fair, I have to attend all of her dance recitals. Believe me, it's not fun. You have to step over hundreds of duffel bags filled with makeup and clothes while surrounded by little girls wearing pink tutus, and it's nearly impossible _not_ to get glitter all over you. Then, when you actually manage to get to a seat, you have to deal with the moms constantly snapping pictures behind your back. It's really annoying. But enough about that.

I've been playing for the Podunk Panthers since I started middle school. I'm twelve years old, but will turn thirteen in a couple of months. According to Coach Briles, I'm their most valued batter, usually hitting at least one home run per game. I've had tons of practice in the past, though. When I was just a mere pre-schooler, Dad and I used to come out to the field and play on autumn weekends. However, that was before he got the new job, and now he is hardly ever home.

After the final whistle blows, we all line up and slap high fives with the other team. Our triumphant grins greatly contrast with their half-hearted ones. I walk to the bench and grab my baseball bag, slinging it over my shoulder.

"Great playing today, McCray!" Coach Briles approaches and tosses the winning baseball to me. I catch it in my glove and grin.

"Thanks, Coach. I did my best. The whole team did."

"You boys sure did. I'm proud of all of you."

"Thanks. When's the next practice again?"

"Oh, yeah! Practice next saturday morning! Nine o' clock!" Coach shouts to the team. "Great job to all of you!"

"Later, Coach." I wave, and make my way toward the bleachers. Minnie hops down and rushes at me.

"Wow, Ninten! You were awesome! I can't believe how far that ball went!" She jumps up and down around me, wearing a ridiculously large smile. She could be so unusually hyper sometimes. "Oh, and here's your hat!" She stops jumping and pulls my favorite baseball cap out from behind her back.

"Thanks." I swap my team hat with it. It's a red hat with a blue bill that I've had since I was a baby, and still wear it almost all the time.

"Can we _please_ go now? It's, like, one hundred degrees out here and I'm sweating!" Mimmie hops down from the bleachers and tugs at the collar of her dress.

"Oh, you think _you're_ hot? Just look at me! And I'm not complaining!" I gesture to my sweat-soaked T-shirt and hair-plastered forehead.

"Well, that's because your a _boy_," Mimmie spits back and sticks her tongue out at me.

"That's enough, kids. I don't want any more fighting on this beautiful day." Mom walks between me and Mimmie, putting her arms around both of us. "You did great today, Ninten. You won the game!" She smiles down at me and pats me on the back.

"Yeah. . . I wish Dad could've seen it." I sigh and look down at the gravel path passing beneath my feet.

"Oh, I know, honey. But you know how much this job means to him. To our whole family, as a matter of fact. When we get home, you can call and tell him about it, if you want. He might be pretty busy though."

"Yeah," I mumble, and we walk to Mom's car in silence.

When we pull into the driveway, my sisters burst out of the car and run to the front door, eager to get out of the outrageous summer heat.

"Alright, Ninten, I'm going to go run some errands. You'll watch the twins?" Mom asks me as we step out of the car.

"Yeah, sure," I reply, and lug my ginormous baseball bag up to the house.

"Thanks, I appreciate it. How does prime ribs sound for dinner?"

"Awesome!" That was my all-time favorite food. I dash through the doorway and up the stairs to my room. Flopping down onto the bed, I stare up at my super-sized San Francisco Giants poster. Over the years, I've dreamed of someday playing on the team. Dad believes that it's possible if I work hard and never give up. I half-smile to myself, remembering the days when Dad and I would do _everything_ together. Camping, fishing, baseball. . . you name it.

"Ninte-en? Have you seen my doll anywhere?" I hear Mimmie's small voice ask from my doorway.

"I thought you took it to the game," I reply, still holding my gaze to the ceiling.

"No! Not _that_ one! It's the one with the blue dress. I can't find it anywhere. . . and you _better_ not have taken it! It's not funny!"

I turn my head in her direction, bemused. "What in the world would I ever do with one of your dolls? Seriously, Mim."

"But I can't find it anywhere!" She stamps her foot in frustration.

"Well, I already told you that I don't know. Go ask Minnie or something. Maybe she put it somewhere." I turn back to the ceiling.

"But-" Mimmie's voice is cut off as I extend my arm towards the door and it slams shut. "Ugh! I _hate_ it when you do that!" She yells, and struggles to try and turn the doorknob, but I hold it firm. "I'm telling Mom!" She lets go, and I hear thuds as she starts bounding down the stairs.

"She went to the store!" I manage to shout back, and the thudding stops.

"Whatever," she says, and walks the rest of the way down.

As you may have already guessed, I'm not like other kids. How exactly did I slam the door in Mimmie's face if I was lying on my bed? With my mind. Telekinesis. The Force. Whatever you want to call it. Dad says that my grandpa could use it too. Minnie and Mimmie can't do what I can. It's just me. I've had this ability as well as some others since I was a baby. Mom once told me about a time when I was barely six months old, she was feeding me baby food from a spoon. I would refuse to eat it, then I just looked at it, and slowly the spoon bent backwards, spilling the food back into my bowl. That spoon still sits in my desk drawer, among many other random things I've collected over the years from parking lots and such. I call them treasures, Mom calls them junk.

I never use my abilities in public, especially not around other kids at school, being too afraid people will think I'm a freak, or be scared of me. I would never be able to play baseball with _that_ reputation. When I first started playing, my mom and coach weren't sure if I should, since, unfortunately, I've suffered with a moderate case of asthma for most of my life. It was my dad who was on my side, and he filled the coach completely in on how well I could actually play. They gave me a chance, I made the team, and nothing's ever happened except for a few mild coughing fits here and there. So, you see, I wouldn't want to jeopardize my almost-wasn't childhood baseball career with being known as the crazy psychic freak.

After showering, I dressed in a blue shirt with a white stripe at the bottom, and khaki cargo shorts. Tying a red bandanna around my neck, I flop back onto the bed. It was only about five o'clock in the afternoon, but exhaustion soon grabbed hold of me. Slowly, I feel myself beginning to nod off, dreaming about baseball and prime ribs.

I jolt sharply out of my sleep when a shrill scream comes from Minnie and Mimmie's room. I sit up and blink several times. Had I really heard it?

There's another scream, and I bolt out of bed. Upon reaching the door, a crash sounds from behind me. I turn, and my bedside lamp flies up from the floor and collides with my forehead, sending me to the ground. I raise a hand to my black hairline, and it comes away bloody. What is going on? The lamp shoots toward me again, and I roll out of the way as it comes crashing to the floor, scattering shards of glass. The light bulb behind the bent lampshade flickers twice before dying.

I slowly back away on my hands and knees into the hallway, closing the bedroom door, then stand up, and rush to my sisters' room. Minnie and Mimmie are huddled together in a corner, and they turn quickly as I enter, eyes wide in fear.

Mimmie's voice shakes. "Ninten! Wha-what's happening?"

Suddenly, Minnie's eyes bug out and she shouts, "Look out!"

I whip around as a stuffed doll comes flying towards me. Catching it in my hands, I strain as it presses harder against my grip. After a few seconds of struggling, I manage to hurl the doll at the wall, and it collides with a loud thwack, then lies motionless on the floor.

Our sharp, stunned breaths are the only sounds for what feels like an entire two minutes. Finally, I speak.

"Are-are you two okay?"

"Um, yeah. . . I guess so. What happened to your head?" Minnie points a finger at the gash in my forehead.

I touch my fingers to it and try not to wince. "Oh, that? It-it's nothing."

"I don't know, it looks pretty bad." She hugs her knees to her chest and rests her chin on top of them.

"Hey, there's something in here." Mimmie had picked up the doll, and was feeling around it's midsection.

I walk over and take the doll from her. There is definitely something in it. That's probably why it had made such a loud noise when it hit the wall.

"I'll be right back." I say, and walk slowly to my room; then push the door open and proceed with caution in case anything else decides to come after me. I grab my pocketknife from my desk drawer, and dash back to my sisters' room.

I take the doll from my sister and flip the knife open. "Do I have your permission, Mim?"

Mimmie bites her lip, and her blue eyes glance quickly from me to the doll. She begins twirling a curl of honey-blonde hair around her finger in agitation.

"I promise that I'll sew it back up or something," I reassure. She nods slowly.

I flip the doll over and slice through the fabric on its back. Inside is a small silver box with a wind-up crank.

Mimmie looks down at the shiny metal object, all traces of concern on her face had vanished. "What's that?"

"I'm not really sure. Should I see what it does?" I raise my eyebrows and look at Mimmie, who shrugs. I turn the crank a few times, and release it. A few short, tinkling notes play before it stops. I could've sworn that I'd heard a voice too. A soft, melodic one. Almost a whisper.

_"Take a melody. . ."_

"A music box? It's so pretty! Here, give it to me!" Mimmie snatches the doll from my hands and winds the crank again. This time, no sound comes out. "Aww, what happened?"

I take it back from her and wind it again. Nothing. "That's weird," I say, "Did you hear that voice too? Like singing?"

Mimmie gives me an odd look. "No. . . I heard the music, but I didn't hear a voice."

I look over at Minnie, who shakes her head. "I think you hit your head a little too hard, bro."

I look down to the floor, puzzled. It had been nothing but a whisper, yet I'd heard it nonetheless. But maybe Minnie was right. That lamp had nailed me pretty hard. What was that all about, anyway?

"Hey, I'm going to go call Dad. Stay here for now." I turn into the hallway and rush down the stairs. Grabbing the phone, I dial Dad's number. He picks up on the third ring.

"Dad!" I nearly shout into the receiver.

"Ninten? Is there an emergency?" He sounds exhausted, but very worried.

"Well, sort of. It's kind of hard to explain. Mom's at the store, and Minnie, Mimmie, and I are at the house. All of a sudden, things-like my lamp and Mimmie's dolls-started flying around. The lamp hit me in the head, but I'm fine."

There's silence on the other end, and I speak, ". . . Dad?"

". . . Your grandpa said this would happen. . ." he mumbles. Look, Ninten, are you sure you're okay?"

"You mean Grandpa Will? And yeah, don't worry about me. I'm good."

"No. . . your grandpa George. I should've told you a long time ago."

"Told me what?" I turn my head, and stare at the humongous patchwork quilt hanging across our dining room wall. Grandma Maria had sewn it after she and George were married.

"Ninten, you know that you have. . . special abilities. Well, it's called PSI. George used to study it."

I don't quite understand where he's going. "Yeah, but. . ."

Dad takes a deep breath. "I know that this is hard to take in, but please bear with me. What happened just now must've been some sort of poltergeist. The same thing happened about 80 years ago when your grandfather lived there, and it also happened here in Ellay earlier this week. We were lucky enough not to have too serious of damage done. Have any dark clouds passed over Podunk lately?"

"Not that I've seen so far. I was outside only an hour ago. Why?"

"Well, 80 years ago, a dark cloud had been present during these 'poltergeists,' as well as other strange happenings. . . Look, I wish I could explain it all to you, but I can't over the phone. I need you to find George's diary, which is locked in a safe in the basement. I'm sure there are things in there that will help, but. . . I'm sorry, it's been so long, I don't remember where I put the key."

"I'll look for it, Dad. I'm just confused about what's happening. I have so many questions to ask-"

"I know, but the diary holds the answers. I have a meeting in three minutes, so I have to go. And Ninten?"

"Yeah?"

"There was a dark cloud over this city when the incidents happened here, and it was heading north. If we're lucky, it has missed Podunk, and you have witnessed the worst of it. But from what I'd estimate, it's not over yet. So, please be safe, all of you. I'll try to come home as soon as I can. Give the girls' both a kiss for me."

Despite being frightened and confused, I snort at the last instruction. "Sure, Dad. Bye." A kiss. Yeah right.

I hang up the phone, take a deep breath, and run my fingers through my dark hair, which causes me to wince. I had almost forgotten about the cut on my forehead. Mom cannot see me like this! She would freak. I dash quickly up the stairs to the bathroom, and close the door. My eyes widen and I gape at my reflection. Blood is encrusted in my hair, and on the entire left side of my forehead. It sure doesn't hurt as bad as it looks. I turn the faucet to warm water and splash my face with it. It stings like the devil, and I gasp, biting my lip to keep from crying out. Immediately, I switch to cold water, which is more soothing. I make sure to scrub away all of the dried blood from my face and hair, and look back up into the mirror, water dripping off my chin.

The cut is about two inches long, running from my hairline down to my left temple. It doesn't look nearly as bad as it had before, and from what I can tell, there aren't any glass shards in it. I rub it gingerly with a generous amount of antibiotic ointment, and walk into my room. Shards of glass are scattered all over the floor, and the broken lamp lies up against the wall, where it had last fallen. After running downstairs to retrieve a broom and an empty shopping bag from the kitchen, I sweep the mess off the floor, thinking about what Dad had said over the phone. How did my-what had he called it?- PSI, have anything to do with this incident? And Grandpa George? He had known that this would happen? How?

There are so many questions blowing through my mind while taking the plastic bag out to the trash, that I almost don't notice a gigantic, black cloud rolling in from the south. I would've thought there was going to be a thunder storm, but it looks more like a dark, swirling mass than a cloud. Then I remember what Dad had told me over the phone. This is the dark cloud he'd been talking about, meaning it hasn't missed us, and the worst _is not_ over.

I turn around as Mom's car pulls into the narrow driveway. Through the windshield, her mouth opens in awe when she notices my injury. Stepping out of the red BMW and grabbing several bags of groceries, she hurries over to me and examines my face.

"Honey! Are you okay? What happened?"

"It's nothing, Mom. Just a little incident with my lamp." I gesture to the silver trash can.

"You weren't playing baseball in the house again, were you? I told you last time-"

"No, Mom. It's nothing, really. Have you seen Mick anywhere?" Mick was my little white beagle, who was a birthday present from Dad four years ago. Not only is he my best friend, but we share a telepathic bond. I can understand, as well as speak to him with my mind.

"He was snoozing in his doghouse when I left. You might want to bring him in though, it looks like we're going to get some rain." She glances up at the dark cloud. "About time, too. My flowers in the back are almost all shriveled up. Oh, and by the way, I found this latched onto Mick's collar when I took him out this morning," She holds up a small, silver key. "Any idea what it goes to?"

Maybe that was the key to the safe! I don't tell her though, because then she would demand some kind of explanation as to what this "safe" was, and what I was up to. "Nah, but it might be Minnie's or Mimmie's. They were probably messing around and hooked it on there or something. I'll take it for now." She drops the key into my palm, and I pocket it.

"Alright," Mom says, glancing at her watch. "It's almost six thirty. Let's go in and get a bite to eat, and then it's bedtime for all three of you."

As we walk back to the house, I debate as to whether or not Mom should know about what happened earlier. I don't know how to describe it logically, because there's nothing logical about it. However, I feel she needs to know that something's going on, but I know she won't be like Dad and imply that I'm supposed to do something about it. If she even believes anything, she'll try to keep me as much _out_ of it as possible. Sighing, I place my hat back on my head and walk into the backyard to retrieve Mick.

Chapter 2

We all take our places at the dining table, except for Minnie, who snatches the television remote off the coffee table and starts flipping through channels. Pictures of talk shows, soap operas, and news conferences flash by.

"Come on, where are all the cartoons?" Minnie puts her hand on her hip, thumb tapping the button impatiently.

Suddenly, a picture of the dark cloud takes over the screen.

"Wait, stop! Go back!" I wave my hand back and forth, gesturing to the T.V.

She switches the channel back, and a news broadcaster is standing in front of the scene. She speaks and occasionally gestures to the mass above the town.

_"Now, there have been many concerns pointing towards these mysterious, dark clouds that have entered from the south, and are now over us. Witnesses say the clouds entered view at around 5:30 this afternoon. The scene bears a striking resemblance to an incident that happened eighty years ago the same way, which has caught many people's attentions. We don't know much at the moment, but will be sure to update you once we gather more information."_

The screen switches to commercials, and both Mimmie and Minnie rush to the window to try and get a glimpse of the cloud. Mom walks over to the table and sets dishes of food down, and I immediately dig into the ribs.

"Hmm. People these days are just getting way in over their heads. It's probably just a normal storm cloud that happens to be darker than usual. Anyways, I don't necessarily believe in all that nonsense that happened eighty years ago." She sits down and spreads a napkin over her lap.

I look up at her, my face smeared with barbecue. "What do you mean? Dad said Grandpa-"

"I know, Ninten. I know. But honey, your grandpa George wasn't really. . . he just wasn't right in the. . ." Mom turns her index finger in a circle around her right temple.

"So, your saying he was crazy?" I begin to feel defensive towards my grandfather.

"Well, to me, it seems that he was suffering from some sort of Paranoid Schizophrenia. After your grandmother went missing, he just never got over it. He stayed shut up in his house all the time, and would go on and on about aliens taking over the world, or something insane like that," she sets down her silverware and crosses her arms.

Mimmie and Minnie come back to the table and sit down, glancing from Mom to me. I wipe my face on a napkin and clear my throat.

"But Mom, it isn't nonsense." I look to my twin sisters, who look back for a moment, then glance away. "Earlier, there was a. . . a poltergeist or something." I swallow and shuffle uncomfortably in my seat. Mom looks sternly at me.

"Remember I told you that my lamp broke? And it gave me this?" I lift up my hat to reveal the cut across my forehead. "It just sort of flew at me. Same goes for Mimmie's dolls." I gesture with my head towards Mimmie, then continue. "But It's gone now. I took care of it. . . I think. I called Dad, and he told me about Grandpa. He said I should look for his diary, and he also mentioned something about my PSI, and how it would-"

"Your what?" Mom furrows her eyebrows.

"My PSI. This." I concentrate on the glass of water in front of me, and it slowly rises into the air.

Mom's puzzled expression changes to one of recognition, yet interest, and Mimmie and Minnie stare with wide eyes, even though they've seen it probably a million times before.

"Alright, now let's just say I believe you about the poltergeist. But what exactly did your dad say about your. . ." she gestures toward me with one hand. "PSI?"

"He said that Great-Grandpa George studied it, and that if I can find his diary, it will somehow help with the situation, or tell us what's going on." I set the glass carefully back down on the table. There's a beat of silence before Mom speaks again.

"I really hope he isn't trying to get you involved in whatever it was George was doing. If all of this is true, how would you ever need to be a part of-"

I feel a sudden wave of energy come over me, and words come spilling out of my mouth. "But what if I'm _supposed_ to?! What if that's the reason that I have these freakish powers in the first place?!" My whole body goes numb and I don't know where that outburst had come from. My voice goes soft. "I just don't understand."

The whole table is silent, and my ears start to burn. "Honey-" Mom begins.

"Please, may I be excused?" I interrupt quietly, avoiding eye contact with anyone, and not waiting for a response. Instead, I rinse my dishes in the sink, and run up to my room where I can be alone.

That night, I had a strange, vivid dream. I dreamt that I had gone down into the basement to get Grandpa's diary. It was where Dad had said it would be, but when I opened it up, it was all just pages with pictures of Dad and I when I was little. There were photos of our camping and fishing trips, and one of me sitting in a blue 1969 Chevy Camaro. And then, there was the picture that I had always treasured my whole life. It was one of Dad and I standing in the baseball park. I was seven years old and was wearing my old little league baseball uniform with my red and blue hat. I had my mitt over one hand, and was holding a baseball in the other. Dad was kneeling down next to me with his arm around my shoulders, and we were both smiling happily at the camera; me missing my top two front teeth.

All of a sudden a gust of wind came, and all of the pages blew closed. I tried to flip through them again, but this time, all of them were blank. The pictures were gone. I ran upstairs into Minnie and Mimmie's room, where I found the window wide open; curtains billowing in the wind. I reached my hand out and concentrated on it, but it wouldn't close. I felt no energy, and it was like I didn't have any power at all. One of Mimmie's dolls fell from it's place on the shelf, and I saw that it was the one with the music box in it. I walked over and picked it up, turning the crank a few times. When I let go, instead of playing the few tinkling notes that it had played before, there came this loud blaring noise, like sirens. . .

I suddenly awake in sweat. I am in bed, still wearing my clothes from the day, and my hat is scrunched up at the headboard. Police sirens are wailing in the distance. My clock reads 2:15 a.m and I reach over to turn on my lamp before remembering that I can't, due to the day's bizarre events. I stumble towards my window, and watch a police car rush by, heading further into the neighborhood.

I quietly cross my room and step into the hallway. While descending the stairs, I am careful to avoid all of the creaky places; I've practically memorized where they all are. Slipping my blue sneakers on, I tiptoe towards the front door, until I trip over something warm and furry and come crashing to the floor.

_"What. . . What are you doing?"_ Mick stirs from his sleeping place on the rug.

_"Shush!"_ I yell back telepathically, waiting and listening for my mom to wake up and find me out here. After ten more seconds of silence, I speak again.

_"I'm going to go see what happened outside."_

_"Why? It's the middle of the night."_

_"Thanks, Captain Obvious. I guess I didn't realize that."_

_"Just making a point. . ."_

_"I just want to see if it could be connected with the black cloud, like another poltergeist."_

_"Okay. . . So, you still believe those rumors about the cloud?"_

_"I don't know, but please don't wake Mom up. I'll be back in a jiffy, and maybe I'll give you an extra biscuit in the morning."_ I get up from the floor.

_"You got it, pal."_ Mick immediately settles back into his sleeping position.

I step quietly out into the warm, summer air. The silence is odd, since the crickets are normally chirping loudly throughout the night. I take a shortcut through the trees where I know that no one will see me. Although I'm trying hard to be as noiseless as possible, the scratchy underbrush and swarms of mosquitoes make it quite difficult. Swatting irritably around my head, I reach the tree line at the top of a hill. The neighborhood spreads out below me; a grid of roads and houses illuminated by the moonlight.

I watch as three police cars, with lights flashing, pull into the driveway of a yellow house. A woman with fire-red hair and a long nightgown steps onto the front porch and approaches the officers. I recognize her as Ms. Lindgren. She and her daughter, who is seven, moved here a few years ago after her husband died from a sickness.

Half crawling, half sliding down the gravelly hill, I creep into some bushes by the corner of the road to eavesdrop.

". . . My daughter, Piper. I call her Pippi. Something-I don't know what-must have broken into the house." Ms. Lindgren's voice quavers as she speaks, but she manages to maintain her composure.

"I awoke to loud banging and crashing, and rushed downstairs to find the place completely trashed! And Pippi. . . she was gone!" She breaks down in sobs and covers her face with her hands.

"It's alright Ms. Lindgren. We'll send out a search party right away. In the meantime we suggest that you stay in your house and try to remain calm. I know that it's hard, but please trust that we'll do everything we can to find her." The lead officer turns back toward his Chevrolet Caprice police car and barks orders into a walkie talkie before climbing into the vehicle and speeding off down the road. The other two officers remain behind, probably searching for clues as to who-or what-broke in.

I, on the other hand, can't shrug the growing feeling that this is no break-in. It _has_ to be the same sort of incident that occurred at my house. Only here it seems like the destruction was much worse. One of the front windows of the house is broken, with a shutter partway detached, and I can tell by the light from the officers' flashlights that the contents of the room lay in utter disarray. The cloud, the poltergeists, Grandpa's diary, even the short little melody; they all have to be linked somehow. But that's the thing. How?

I turn and retreat amidst thickets of weeds and underbrush all the way back home, sneaking in through the back door in an attempt to avoid waking Mick again. I slip off my shoes and ascend the stairs to my room as quietly as possible, but, before going back to bed, there is something I have to do. Snatching a flashlight off my dresser, I head back downstairs to the basement to retrieve Grandpa's diary.

I open the basement door slowly, and grimace as it creaks a long, high note. As I step down the wooden staircase, I shine my flashlight around the room; spotting piles of plywood, a row of shelves, bookcases, an antique record player, and a few cardboard boxes filled with old toys.

I scan the shelves twice for anything with a small, silver key hole; but with no success. Pushing aside boxes full of baby mobiles and Tonka trucks, I finally come across one that is non-cardboard. I try to lift it, but find that it is much too heavy and barely get it an inch off the concrete floor. Kneeling down and huffing and puffing, I manage to haul the wooden box out of the corner, then sit back and gawk at it inquisitively.

What in the heck is in this thing? There is definitely more than just a diary; for it has to be nearly 200 pounds. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the key and insert it into the lock, turning it. The door pops open. Aiming the flashlight inside, I discover the reason for its immense weight. The safe is filled with books; large volumes, like the kind you would see in a study, or the reference section of a library. One by one, I remove them, glancing at their titles and flipping through some of the pages. Grandpa must have been really serious about his PSI study because all of the books seem to pertain to that subject.

At last, wedged in the very back of the safe is a small, leather-bound book. It looks rugged and worn, and loose pieces of paper jut out from the other pages. I flip open the latch and leaf through the yellowing pages. I know it was just a dream, but I half expect them to be pasted with collages of pictures. Instead, there are passages of neat, sophisticated handwriting. This has to be it. Here, I hold the book that could possibly contain some much needed answers.


	3. Chapters 3-4

Chapter 3

I sit up in bed flipping randomly through the diary. It's three thirty in the morning, but I'm not the least bit tired. Although I haven't actually read anything except for the first page, I keep coming across words such as 'abduction,' and 'the God's tail,' as well as some sort of 'XX' symbol.

I set the book down on my lap and gaze out my window. For a split second, I wonder if maybe my grandfather _was_ a little bit crazy, and I am even crazier for believing it all. Everything just seems so. . . out there. However, I quickly push these thoughts to the back of my mind. If I know anything so far, it's that the black mass in the sky is not a storm cloud, and this whole poltergeist thing is real. I had experienced it, and so had Ms. Lindgren. That has to prove something. My grandfather wasn't _completely_ crazy. There is something behind everything that is happening, and whether it be aliens or not, I have to find out what it is.

I look down, concentrating on the open journal lying across my lap, and the pages gracefully flip closed. I sigh to myself. It looks as if both my dad and grandpa found my PSI to be significant somehow. But why? If there truly are aliens planning to take over the world, am I just supposed to use the power of my mind and chuck 'em to the other side of the universe or what? There's no way I can just wake up one day and have the fate of the world thrown into my hands.

I glance back up at the window. There's a full moon, and it appears as if it has been cut out of paper and pasted onto the sky. I switch off the flashlight so I can see it better. There aren't any stars visible, it's just the bright, white moon, all alone in the darkness. _Kind of like me,_ I think to myself, _I don't have a clue as to what's going on, or what I'm supposed to do about it. It's just me, all alone in the dark._

* * *

The next morning, I wake to a warm, slobbery tongue being wiped all over my face. Without opening my eyes, I raise my arms and push Mick's furry head out of the way, groaning in annoyance. I pull the bed covers up over my head, and Mick stands up on his hind legs, resting his front paws on the mattress. He nudges me with his snout.

I push the blankets down just a notch, and squint my eyes under their dry lids. It feels like there's sand under them.

Mick stares at me with dark brown puppy-dog eyes. _"About time you woke up, sleepyhead. Your mom had to take your littermates somewhere, and I was getting kinda hungry, so-"_

_"You mean Mimmie's dance practice? That doesn't even start until one o'clock,"_ I mumble into my pillow.

_"Exactly my point."_

_"What?!"_ I jolt upright into a sitting position and stare lasers into my digital clock-not literally of course; I don't have_that_ kind of power. I have never slept in this late before. I guess that's what I get for staying up more than half the night sneaking outside and flipping through a diary about hostile aliens taking over the. . . Where is the diary, anyway?

I begin patting the bed sheets frantically, in hopes that Mom hadn't found it lying open on my stomach and hidden it somewhere. I remember her saying that she didn't want me involved in anything Dad was talking about. I let out a sigh of relief when I look over the side of my bed, and see a corner of the book sticking out from underneath. I lean down to grab it, then hug it to my chest. Mick stares with ears perked.

_"May I ask what that is?"_

_"It's Grandpa's diary. It's supposed to give me some information about the weird things that are happening,"_ I reply.

_"Correct me if I'm mistaken, but didn't your mother say that you shouldn't get involved in any of it?"_

_"Well, yeah. . . But I feel like I have to. Like I need to do something. I just gotta get out of here and figure it all out."_

_"You need more training on your obedience skills."_

I shoot him an 'are-you-serious-it's-not-funny' look.

_"Well. . . you can't just leave because of a feeling you have. Where are you even going to go? And you'll leave everything behind. Me, baseball,-"_

_"I won't be gone forever. . . at least, I hope not."_ I stand up and walk to my window, which looks out over the backyard. The cloud has passed over us, and is continuing northward.

_"Wow, you really are serious about this aren't you? I can sense it."_ Mick sets all four paws back on the ground and trots to my side.

I bend down and scratch him behind the ears. _"Yeah. . . I know it's crazy, and dangerous, and Mom'll ground me for life, but I just have to go. I have to finish what Grandpa started."_

Mick cocks his head, with ears still perked. _"You know, you still owe me that biscuit."_

I can't help but smile. _"Right, let's get some breakfast. I'm starving."_

_"You mean lunch?"_

_"Sure. Lunch."_ I snatch a dog biscuit from a tin on my dresser and toss it to Mick, who jumps and catches it effortlessly in his mouth.

* * *

With my stomach satisfied after a full plate of leftover ribs, I sit on my bedroom floor, with my feet tucked underneath me, packing up the last few things I'll be needing for my 'trip.' I still don't quite know what I am getting myself into. Stuffed in my canvas schoolbag is one pair of extra clothes, a mason jar of allowance money, a water bottle, and Grandpa's diary. Of course, I bring my asthma inhaler, which I slip into my shorts pocket. I let out a sigh, and glance up to my dog, who stares at me with sad, droopy eyes.

_"Promise me you'll watch over Mom and my sisters?" _

_"I promise, but I still can't believe you're actually leaving. I should be figuring out a way to stop you-"_

_"No, Mick. I have to do this. You know I'm not leaving forever. I'll come back when all of this is over." _

_"But, what if. . ."_ Mick hesitates.

_"If what?"_ I ask.

_"Never mind. I just want you to be safe."_

_"It's okay, buddy, I will. Goodbye, Mick."_ I reach out and wrap my arms around my dog's head in a tight embrace.

_"Okay, now I better get going before I change my mind."_ I stand up and place my hat securely on my head. After giving my bedroom a last, long look, I head into the hallway. As I slowly begin to descend the stairs, the front door suddenly bursts open, and Mimmie and Minnie come rushing in, shortly followed by Mom. I stop in my tracks.

"Hi, hon! Glad to see that you're up! Have you eaten anything yet?" Mom smiles up at me as she sets Mimmie's pink duffel bag on the floor.

"Yeah, I finished up the ribs. I was just on my way to, uh. . . play some baseball in the park. Some of my league friends are gonna meet me there." This is a complete lie, and I feel bad for it, but what else am I supposed to do?

"Oh, well, I'd be happy give you a ride. No need to wear yourself out before you even get there. Especially in _this heat._Too bad the rain missed us."

"Oh, uh, thanks Mom, but I'm fine walking. I'm stiff from yesterday anyway, so a walk would probably help me loosen up."

"Are you sure? I can-"

"No, really, it's fine. I'd rather walk." I descend the rest of the stairs slowly, and stand in front of my mother.

"Are you okay, Ninten? You look a little down. Is there something wrong?" Mom asks in concern.

"No. . . Well, about yesterday, I'm sorry I yelled and everything. I just-"

"Oh, honey, don't worry about that. I understand how you feel. I shouldn't have talked about your grandfather like that."

"It's okay. I love you, Mom." I step closer and give her a long hug, and she hugs me back. I see Mick eyeing me from the bottom of the stairs.

_"All right, I know it's difficult, but you don't want her to suspect that you're up to something."_ He warns me.

"Ninten, are you sure you're all right? Maybe today's not a good day for baseball."

"No, I'm fine. I just felt bad about last night, that's all." I step away and turn towards the door.

"Well, it's nothing to be bothered about. Now, go out and play with your friends." She heads toward the kitchen, and I walk to the front door and open it. I don't want to leave, but if I refuse this chance, I'll probably never try again.

"Just be home in time for dinner!" Mom calls out before I step onto the porch.

I bite my lip, knowing full well that I will not be back in time for dinner, and will be missing many of them at home. With only a moment's hesitation, I step outside into the blazing summer heat. Spying one of my old baseball bats leaning against the side of the house, I grab it, hoping that I won't need to use it, but you just never know.

* * *

The sun beats down on me as I head towards town. I remove my hat, and wipe the sweat gathering on my forehead; it's really starting to irritate the nasty gash my lamp had given me. I stop near the Lindgrens' place. Yellow caution tape is wrapped around the perimeter of the household, and patrol cars are parked on the street. A few officers pace around the house, immersed in their investigation. It is apparent that Pippi has not been found.

Reaching into my schoolbag, I pull out the water bottle and take a small gulp, then sprinkle some over my forehead to soothe the stinging cut. Judging the distance from here to the center of Podunk, I find that the journey will be much faster if I take a shortcut through the cemetery. Although the graveyard is creepy, and no less a meeting place for gangs during the night, it's actually quite peaceful in the daytime hours. Hoisting the bag up on my shoulders, I cut through the grass to my right, stumbling down the sloping hill. The area seems devoid of human activity. The only sounds are of birds chirping and squirrels scampering through the bushes. I even catch sight of a young doe, peering out from behind a giant oak. She observes me with soft, dark eyes, then stamps her feet lightly before continuing to forage.

unsettling feeling creeps over me, likely the product of the formidable quiet combined with me walking around alone in a 120 year old graveyard. Nonetheless, I proceed; scanning the names engraved on the stones nonchalantly, using them as a distraction from my over-active imagination. Apparently, it isn't enough.

"Hello? Is. . . is someone there?" A small child's voice seems to rise straight up out of the ground.

I stop dead in my tracks as a chill runs up and down my spine-which is saying a lot considering the current temperature would probably cause the mercury in a thermometer to come bursting out the top. I'm not very superstitious or anything, but being alone in an old cemetery scares me nonetheless. There is no way that the voice had come from a ghost! Ghosts don't exist, right? However, many people say that about psychic powers-about them not existing. And I, for one, know that that statement is so very, very false. Since this was the case, it is highly probable that a ghost could've just-

"Please. . . is anybody there? I need help!" The voice rings out again, coming from my left.

I grip the baseball bat tightly in my sweaty palms, and inch toward what looks like a freshly dug grave. There is no gravestone, and a large pile of dirt is heaped off to one side. Although the baseball bat probably won't be very effective against a typical ghost or ghoul, it is all I have, and I'm ready to swing if necessary.

I cautiously peer over the edge of the grave, only to let out a huge sigh of relief. What lay below me is no phantom or ghost, but a girl of about seven, wearing a denim jumper dress over a pink tee-shirt, undoubtedly setting off her fiery red hair, which is gathered in two braids on the sides of her head. We blink at each other, and I loosen my grip on the bat.

"Pippi Lindgren?" I ask, and begin to ease myself down into the grave.

"Yep. That's me," she says, and continues to lay unmoving.

"I'm Ninten. I was just on my way into town, and. . . well. . . are you okay? Your mom and the police have been looking for you. They think you got kidnapped or something," I move behind her head and place my hands under her shoulders, preparing to help her up. "Can you stand?"

I lift her slightly by the shoulders and drag her backwards, where she leans against the dirt wall, wincing the slightest bit.

"Sorry about that," I say.

"It's okay. I'm fine."

"What happened?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"Well, last night, when I was supposed to be in bed, I was really up playing my NES. I hafta' admit, I was doing pretty good, but then the television got all fuzzy and stuff, and I couldn't turn it off. Then everything started flying around the room like a tornado. Something started pulling on me, and I couldn't get away.-"

"Wait, something was _pulling_ on you? Like what?" This information was new to me. At my house, a few things had flown around, but I never felt myself being _pulled on_ by anything.

"Yeah, but I couldn't see it. It was like some unseen force or something pulled me right out the window. See?" She holds out her arms for me to examine. There are a few small scrapes visible on them, as well as on her face. "It was weird. . . I was running-but more being pulled-all the way here, where I fell into this grave and twisted my ankle. I didn't call for help because it was the middle of the night, and. . . you know. . . I didn't want any zombies to hear me or anything."

"Wow." I try to ponder what I've just heard. The incidences just seem to be getting worse.

"I know, sounds crazy right? You probably think I'm making it all up." Pippi crosses her arms in front of her chest.

"No! I mean, the same thing happened to me, except for the whole unseen force thing. I just know that it has _something_to do with that black cloud."

"Is that thing still here? Where is it?"

"No, it passed over us, heading north." I reply, and we sit in silence for a few seconds. "Well, I'd better get you out of here. You're mom's worried sick. Do you need help getting up?" I stand and offer my hand to Pippi, who grabs it and pulls herself up on one leg, then gingerly sets the other one down, letting go of my arm. She lets out a sigh of relief.

"Thank God nothing's broken! Oh, and you can have this since you were so brave to come and find me." She reaches into a pocket on her dress, and takes out a shiny, coin-like badge. She holds it out for me, but then snatches it back before I can take it.

"But wait a sec. If you were just on your way into town, why are you carrying that thing around?" She raises one eyebrow and gestures with her head to the baseball bat in my hand. "You looked about ready to clobber something with it when you found me."

"Oh! Well, uh, I was just-" I begin, feeling my face grow hot.

"You weren't _scared,_ were you? I mean, come on. You must be, what, like fourteen? You should know that ghosts and stuff aren't real!" She smirks. "Even I know that!"

"Well, sheesh! Speak for yourself! You're the one who wouldn't call for help because you were too afraid that zombies would hear you," I spit back triumphantly. "Oh, and I'm twelve, not fourteen."

Pippi drops the smirk and narrows her eyes at me. Then she rolls them and shrugs. "Well, whatever. You were brave anyhow. Here you go." She hands me the badge.

I examine it. On the front, a bright blue lightning bolt runs diagonally across a world map. The words "FRANKLIN BADGE" are written within a black bar encircling the map, and all is surrounded by a shiny gold trim. On the back is a pin, which will allow me to secure it to my clothing.

"Where'd you get this? And who the heck is Franklin?" I ask, turning the badge over and over in my fingers.

"'Dunno. Got it from one of those 25 cent arcade vending machines. I've had it for a while now," she watches me fiddle with it for a few seconds. "But you can keep it. I don't want it. Now let's get outta' here."

Pippi walks with a slight limp to the wall of the grave, and I follow. "All right, gimme a lift," she says, and I wrap my arms around her waist, hoisting her up to the edge. She pulls herself up onto the grass, her feet scraping the dirt of the wall, which comes showering down onto my sweaty face. Pippi appears not to notice as I splutter and try to wipe it away. She turns back around, facing down into the hole. "Here. Hand me the bat and bag."

I send them up, then stop to secure the Franklin Badge onto my tee-shirt. I don't know what it is, but it does look pretty cool.

"All right, come on. I'll help you up." Pippi reaches her arms down towards me. I'm not sure how some scrawny seven-year-old girl with a semi-twisted ankle is supposed to pull me out of here, but I don't have too many other options at the moment.

She grabs my arms and starts pulling backwards. I dig the toes of my shoes into the dirt wall as I am slowly eased out of the grave, surprised at Pippi's strength.

Finally back on surface level, I remove my hat and fan my face with it. Only a few more hours until the sun would start to set. But now, it burned on, hot as ever.

"Jeez, what happened to your head? Did old Mr. Wally get to ya?" Pippi gapes at the gash across my forehead.

"Mr. who?" I ask, confused.

"Mr. Wally. He's some crazy old farmer who thinks every bit of land is his. And he hates kids." She stops and grabs my backpack, opening it. "Hey, what you got in here anyway?"

"Nothing." I snatch it back, but too late.

"Clothes? Are you running away?"

A flash of guilt spreads through me, and I try to hide the sorrowful expression across my face. "No! I'm. . . I'm going to visit my cousin who lives in an apartment downtown." Man, I'm such a horrible lier.

Pippi looks over my dirty face and clothes, and stares at the gash in my forehead. "That's a lie, and you know it."

"Okay, fine. I _am_ running away, but it's not for good. I just. . . I have some stuff that I need to do before I can go back."

Pippi looks skeptical, but shrugs it off and stands up. "Oh. Well, you mind if I tag along? I smell adventure, and I usually don't get to go on many adventures-"

"Aren't you worried about your mom?" I stand up and look down at her. She appears unfazed by the question.

"Aren't you worried about yours?" she reciprocates my question back at me, crossing her arms. I open my mouth to respond, but change the subject instead.

"What about your ankle?"

"My ankle's fine." She jumps once, and comes down, suppressing a grimace. "See? Come on, you said you were heading into town? Let's go!" She runs ahead-which looks more like awkward skipping due to the minor limp. I run to catch up with her.

I guess I don't really mind if she comes along, but it surprises me how she doesn't want to go home; being dirty and slightly hurt as she is. Well, at least I won't have to walk through the rest of the cemetery alone. Ghosts or not, it still gives me the creeps.

Chapter 4

The entire time we are walking, Pippi blabs on and on about the most random things. I swear, that girl does not know when to shut up. I tried listening at first, but gave up and tuned out a few minutes ago. We'd exited the cemetery, and are now strolling through an open glade where the grass is long, golden, and scratchy due to the dry weather. Trees dot the landscape around us, and a small brook runs gurgling through the meadow, sparkling in the late afternoon sun. Before crossing it, I eagerly splash my face and neck with the cool water, washing away some of the sweat and dirt that had accumulated within the past hour. A few tall buildings are clearly visible ahead of us, and I can assume that we are only a few minutes away from town.

"So, then, after I _begged_ and _begged_ for her to buy it, she finally gave in and-" Pippi gasps suddenly and cuts off from her rambling monologue. She grabs my hand and hurries over to the tree line where she shoves me behind an oak tree and throws herself after me. "It's him!" she hisses.

"It's who?" I ask. "I didn't see anybody."

"Mr. Wally, that's who!"

"You mean-"

"Sshh! There he is again!" She whispers, and we both crane our necks to see around the tree. I catch sight of a middle aged man in faded bib overalls and a holey white tee-shirt walking around a ways ahead of us. His hair is blond, thin, and wispy, and he appears slightly disoriented. In one hand, he mindlessly carries a five foot pitchfork, and in the other, a bottle of liquid-alcohol no doubt.

"Who's out there?" Wally drawls as he hobbles around a tree, looking for something-or someone.

"Get back!" Pippi hisses quietly, and tugs me back behind the tree.

"I know you kids'er out there! It's too late now! Ye best git off me land 'fore I-"

"We ain't on your land, old man! It belongs to the city!" Pippi shouts in Wally's direction, and I gape at her, horrified, before sneaking a quick peek around the tree.

Wally whirls around, glancing in all directions, and starts stumbling toward us. "Whussat? Whussat ye say?"

I widen my eyes even more when Pippi shouts again, "I _said_. . . we ain't on your land! It _belongs_ to the city!" She turns and gestures for me to follow her. She quickly darts out from behind the tree and rushes past Wally, who whirls around, startled. He raises the bottle of alcohol, as if preparing to throw it, and I rush out from behind the tree after Pippi. Wally directs his attention to me as I run past, and chucks the bottle over his head. It hits me sharply in the back of my knee and I fall, nearly face-planting into the dry dirt.

By the time I roll onto my back, Wally is standing over me with the rusted pitchfork. He attempts to swing it down upon me like a sword, but I block the blow with my baseball bat, and struggle to escape. Suddenly, Pippi's voice rings out from behind me.

"Hey! Look here, you dumb sack of baloney!" she shouts, and Wally looks up, halting his assault on me. There's a satisfying thwack as something hits Wally directly between the eyes, causing him to cry out and stagger backwards, falling limply into the dirt.

I scramble to my feet and watch Pippi tuck a small wooden slingshot into a pocket on her dress.

"What the. . . Where did you get that?" I ask, still marveling at how pinpoint accurate she had been with the shot.

"Uh, knock-knock?" she raises her fist and makes a knocking motion in the air. "I was just telling you about how I convinced my mom to buy it for me. Where've you been?"

"Oh. Uh, sorry. Never mind." I scratch my head underneath my hat. "What'd you hit him with?"

"A walnut. Gave him a piece of his own mind, considering that's how big it is."

I smile in amusement and look over at Wally, lying motionless on the ground.

"He's really out, isn't he? And in for one heck of a headache when he wakes up." My face becomes somber. "Why did you have to shout and run like that? We could've just escaped quietly and unnoticed."

"But what's the fun in that? It's not an adventure without any risks or danger. It's like in my video games. The hero always gets into fights and faces danger, but in the end, it always turns out right." Pippi strides over near Wally, inspecting his face where the walnut had hit him. Already, a purple bruise is beginning to form between his eyes. "Come on. Help me drag Walnut-Head over to that tree."

"But, Pippi, _that's_ a video game. _This_ is real. That guy could've killed us!" I didn't leave home and come out here to make reckless moves and almost be killed by some drunk farmer with a pitchfork. I left because I. . . well. . . I still don't know what it is that I am looking for, or why I had to leave. But it certainly isn't to get into this much trouble before even leaving town-or making it _into_ town for that matter.

I set aside these thoughts and stride over to where Wally lay. I grab his arms while Pippi takes hold of his ankles, and together we drag him over the large oak tree and lean him up against the trunk. His head lolls off to one side.

"Yeah, he _could've_ killed us, but he didn't! And that's all that matters!" Pippi places her hands on her hips, and looks up at me. "Right?"

"Yep. Right," I reply, not wanting to push the subject any further. "Now let's get going. It's almost sunset." I continue heading towards town. Luckily, in the summertime where I live, daylight lasts a _long_ time. It could be seven or eight o'clock at night, and still be light out. We'll definitely make it into town before darkness settles in.


	4. Chapters 5-6

Chapter 5

All around us are streets lined with neatly trimmed trees and bushes. A few skyscrapers rise high above our heads in the midst of smaller stores and restaurants, which all have flowerbeds overflowing with colorful petunias, impatients, and carnations. We stroll down the sidewalks, occasionally glancing in store windows. I notice that a few restaurants and discount stores have police vehicles and caution tape outside of them, and through the windows, the store's contents are scattered throughout the building. More poltergeists.

haven't really thought about being hungry since lunch, and I certainly am now. Pippi had asked about dinner upon entering town, and I know that she probably has to be starving. After all, she _had_ been trapped in a grave all night and over half the day without anything to eat. I buy her a water bottle and a bag of potato chips from a vending machine; I want to save my money and use it wisely-not when I am a mere hour's walk from home. Pippi devours the bag within two minutes, and chugs half the water bottle. However, she wears a look of dissatisfaction as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

As we continue walking down the street, she begins to groan and complain; hanging back behind me and dragging her feet in exaggerated weariness.

_"Uugh,_ I'm _so_ hungry, and I have to go to the bathroom," she moans. "Can't you slow down? My legs hurt, and I don't wanna-"

"Please, would you stop being so melodramatic?" I say in annoyance, without slowing my pace.

She huffs loudly. "I don't even know what that _means_. . ."

I turn around to face her. "Please, will you just be quiet?! Whatever happened to tough ol' miss adventurous? From the way you were acting before, I would never have suspected you could be this whiny. It's almost as bad as my sister!" I pause, and try to soften my tone. "Look, I'm hungry and tired too, but sometimes you have to make sacrifices. Especially on adventures."

Pippi looks down at the sidewalk, ashamed. ". . . I'm sorry. It's just that I really _am_ hungry, and tired, and. . ." She stops, realizing that she had begun to complain again. I raise my eyebrows at her.

". . . Never mind." She digs the toe of one scuffed and faded Converse shoe into a crack in the pavement, keeping her eyes focused downward.

"All right, well, come on. Let's go." I pivot on my heel and start walking again, but Pippi stays where she is.

"Uh, Ninten?" she asks.

I pause. "Yeah?"

"Can we just stop in this store for a second? Because I really _do_ have to go to the bathroom."

"Sure. I'll wait outside." I turn back around and lean up against the brick wall of the building.

"Thank you!" she yells in relief, and rushes inside the store.

I busy myself with observing my surroundings, and wondering what I'm going to do when Mom finds out that I've left. I should at least call and tell her that I'm okay, and that she doesn't need to worry, but I know she will anyway.

Suddenly, something in the window of a pet shop across the street catches my eye. I wait for the road to clear, and then stride over to the store, gazing through the glass. Perched inside a dull metal bird cage is a baby canary. It looks fairly young, with streaked brown feathers. I stand there, gaping in astonishment, as Pippi pulls up next to me. She looks at me irritatedly.

"What are you doing? For a second I thought you abandoned me!" Her expression becomes puzzled as she glances from me to the bird. "What's wrong?"

"That bird. . . It's a canary." I look over at Pippi, her expression unshifting. "I had to do a report on them last year for school. A long time ago, people brought these birds here all the way from the Canary Islands, and they managed to thrive in the wild. They used to live everywhere around here, but now they can only be seen in the Canary Forest Wildlife Refuge."

"Then why's that one in there?"

I turn my attention back to the bird. "I really don't know, but it's way too young to have flown and escaped the reserve. I almost think that some idiot took it from the forest, hoping to get money or something."

"What?! But that's not fair! Poor little thing." Pippi stares at it sympathetically, then turns and looks up at me. "We have to help it. We can buy it and take it back to the forest."

I give an incredulous snort, and gesture to the price tag. "It's eighty-five bucks! I can't buy that!"

"Well, you have to do _something_. We can't just leave it."

I huff loudly, and there comes a moment of silence between us. I truly do feel sorry for the small creature, but there is no way that I am willing to spend eighty-five bucks on a bird. However, a small part of me feels like I _need_ to buy it and take it back to the reserve. I probably have a little over a hundred dollars in my allowance jar, so technically I _can_ afford it, but it would mean losing over half of my money all at once.

I glance down at Pippi, who sighs and continues staring at the baby bird. The small part of me soon prevails.

"Okay, fine. I'll buy the bird."  
Pippi's face lights up, and she throws her arms around me. "Really? Thank you Ninten!"

I'm taken aback by the sudden embrace, giving her an awkward pat on the shoulder. "Yeah, yeah. But this isn't for your sake, it's for the bird's."

She steps away, still grinning widely. "Yeah, I know."

Together, we enter the store, which is stocked with all kinds of pet food, toys, and care items. Rows of fish tanks are lined up against one wall, and cages of chirping and squawking birds are set on tables, as well as hung from the ceiling. I stride over to a man at the check-out counter, with Pippi following close behind.

"Hey, I'd like to buy that bird you've got over there." I gesture to the cage next to the window. "But you _do_ know that it's a canary, right? They're protected in this area. Did someone bring it from the reserve?"

"It was somebody else's shift when the bird was brought in. It was there when I got here. But why would you want to buy it if you're so concerned about it being a protected species?" he replies.

"We aren't going to own it as a pet," Pippi remarks. "We're gonna take it back to the forest where it belongs."

"Oh." He furrows his eyebrows, glancing from Pippi to me. "Well, it's eighty-five dollars."

"But we're not even going to keep it! Don't you agree that it should be put back?" I ask.

He raises his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Hey, I don't set the prices. I'm just doing my job. I can't let you walk out of the store without paying for it, because for all I know, you could be some punk kid trying to rip me off. Besides, how do you even know for sure that the bird came from the reserve anyway? It could have rightly been someone's pet that they had to get rid of."

"Uh. . . well. . ." I stammer, and glance quickly to Pippi, then back at the cashier. "It's really young, and. . . I guess I just had a feeling that it did."

He smiles in a mocking way. "A feeling, huh? That's real clever." He places both hands on the counter and looks me in the eye. "Look, kid. The bird's eighty-five bucks. Take it or leave it."

I glower back at him for a few seconds, slipping the backpack off my shoulders and bringing out the allowance jar, which receives an odd look from the cashier. I can't say I really blame him, though. I mean, who carries around a mason jar filled with cash?

I turn it upside-down and the contents come crashing down onto the counter, forming a broad heap of coins and bills. This undoubtedly startles the birds, for they all become quiet and alert. The cashier stares down at the pile with a blank expression as a few paper dollars float down onto the countertop. After a few seconds, he looks up at me.

"Sorry, but I can't accept eighty-five dollars that's almost all in coins."

I place both my hands on the counter and look him in the eye. "Look, man. There's 85 bucks. Take it or leave it."

Chapter 6

"Really? A _feeling_? That was the best you could come up with?" Pippi strides along beside me as we exit the pet shop with the canary chick.

"Hey, at least I got the bird." I say, holding up the cage. "Now, all we have to do is take it back to the forest, and that'll be that. It's just northwest of here."

"Yeah. Well, what are we gonna do after that?" Pippi asks, looking up at me.

I shrug."I dunno. Call our moms maybe?"

"Are you kidding? There's no way I'm calling my mom!"

"But don't you at least think she should know you're all right? She thinks you've been kidnapped. . . or worse." I pause, looking up into the sky at the setting sun. "I mean, my mom thinks I'm at the baseball park right now, and she told me to be back in time for dinner. Believe me, I want nothing more right now than to be at home." I look solemnly down at the sidewalk passing beneath our feet.

"Then why don't you just go home?"

"Because I can't. I told you, there's something I have to do. . . or something I have to find before I can go back." I sigh heavily. "You wouldn't understand. _I_ don't even understand."

A long silence passes between us, accompanied only by the sounds of cars passing and our feet shuffling against the pavement. Soon Pippi speaks again, this time on a different topic.

"So, earlier, you sorta' mentioned that you had a sister? What's her name?" she asks.

"I actually have two. Minnie and Mimmie. They're twins."

"Wow. . . You're so lucky. I don't have any brothers or sisters, and it's really boring." She frowns at the ground.

"Well, sometimes they can be really annoying, and I'll wish that I was an only child. But other times, I guess they're not so bad to have around." I turn and smile towards Pippi. "But don't worry. You've still got your friends."

We continue on away from the city until we reach a great expanse of greenery. A chain-link fence is wrapped all the way around it, with the gate slightly ajar. Hooked onto the fence is a large wooden sign covered in dull, peeling paint that reads "Canary Forest Wildlife Refuge - No Hunting Permitted."

"Well, whoever stole this little guy obviously couldn't read," Pippi remarks.

"Either that, or they just didn't care," I reply. "Come on, let's go in. The gate's already open."

We enter the reserve, and are soon enveloped by the lush green foliage. The sounds of singing birds emanate throughout the forest, and we spot several canaries perched in the branches above our heads. Suddenly, Pippi halts and tugs on my shirt sleeve, pointing through the trees on our left at a man clad in army-green pants and a jacket.

"Look! It's a poacher!" she hisses, reaching into her dress pocket and bringing out the slingshot.

"Wait, stop!" I whisper back, holding my hand out in front of her. "It's not a poacher. It's just a park ranger. Look at the uniform he's wearing."

"How do you know? He could be in disguise. . ." Pippi narrows her eyes suspiciously at the man.

"Oh, _please_." I roll my eyes, and begin walking towards the ranger. "Hey, uh, excuse me! Do you know if this bird belongs here?" I shout, and hold up the cage for him to see.

He looks in my direction and strides over to where I'm standing, then raises his eyebrows in surprise and recognition as he stares into the bird cage.

"Well, yes! Wherever did you find it?" He glances up at me.

"We saw it in the pet store back in town. I knew that canaries aren't supposed to be kept as pets around here, so I bought it, hoping I could bring it back," I reply.

"Oh, certainly! We've been wondering what happened to that little one for quite some time now." He smiles and glances from me to Pippi, then back to me. "It's so nice to know that there are young people in this town who know and care about the wildlife and natural environment. Come along this way." He turns and leads us further into the forest, until we come upon a tree supporting several bird nests. The nests are built between forked branches, and appear to be made of twigs, grasses, and moss. Some of the birds flit to and fro through the branches, while others can be seen poking their bright yellow heads out over the brims of their nests.

"Now that one there is Laura." The park ranger points up at the nest closest to us, which is about eight feet or so above our heads. A small bird is perched on the nest, inspecting us down below. "And this little chick here is hers."

I watch as he pulls out a small handful of seeds from a pocket on his uniform jacket. He sprinkles the seeds on the ground and whistles, backing away from the food. Laura and a few other canaries dive down from the leafy canopy to feast on the grains, twittering and hopping about.

The park ranger gestures for me to set the cage down, and I do, stepping back from it. One of the canaries, which I assume is Laura, loses interest in the food and inspects the cage with her beady eyes. She flies over and perches on one of the thin metal bars, examining the chick resting within them.

"Aww . . . look how happy she is to have her baby back!" Pippi says quietly, clasping her hands together.

Laura raises her head and sings a few soft, sweet-sounding notes. I can almost swear that I hear a voice too. A soft, melodic one. Almost a whisper.

_"Simple as can be. . ."_

I look up, surprised, and glance over at Pippi. "Did you hear that?"

"Oh, yes! She sings so beautifully!" Pippi keeps her hands clasped together, smiling at the reunited mother and chick.

"But did you hear a. . . a voice? Like a woman singing?"

An odd look crosses Pippi's face as she shakes her head. "Nuh-uh. Did you?"

I look down at the ground, puzzled. "Never mind. It must have just been my imagination." What the heck? Why am I hearing these voices. . . and these melodies? And how come I'm the only one that ever hears them?

"Wow, thanks so much you two. This really means a lot to us _and_ to Laura. I'll make sure that she and her chick are once again settled in their nest." The park ranger tugs the sleeve of his jacket back, revealing a shiny silver watch. "Now, unfortunately, I'm going to have to kick you kids out of here, since the reserve closes to the public in ten minutes. Sorry about that."

"S'okay. We should probably get going anyway. Right, Ninten? . . . _Right, Ninten_?" Pippi pokes me sharply in the arm.

"Huh?" I jerk back to reality. "Oh, right. Sorry."

We turn and follow the park ranger back through the forest until we reach the gate. As Pippi and I step out, he shuts and locks it behind us.

"Thanks again, and come back soon!" he calls after us.

Pippi and I turn and wave. "We will!" we yell simultaneously.

The last few rays of sun vanish beneath the horizon as we head back into town, and Pippi breaks the growing silence. "You know, I've been thinkin.' Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to call Mom." She gazes down at her feet. "Seeing the baby bird and it's mama kinda made me feel homesick. . . a little."

I stop and look down at her. "You know, you don't have to come with me if you don't want to. You can go home if you want."

"No! It's not that I don't want to come. It's just. . . I. . ." she stumbles over her words.

"You won't hurt my feelings if that's what you're worried about," I reassure. "I know exactly how you feel."

"Okay." She glances back down at the ground, then looks up again. "I don't know, maybe it'll pass. Everything always feels worse at night." She pauses. "I still want to call though. Let's use that phone over there." She points to a pay phone on the side of the road, illuminated by the streetlights above. We walk towards it.

"You got a quarter?" Pippi asks as we approach.

I dig out the mason jar, and withdraw a silver coin, handing it to her. She inserts it into the slot, and holds the receiver to her ear. The call is answered on the first ring, and although the voice on the other end is muffled, the words can still be distinguished.

"Hello? Mom?" Pippi speaks into the phone.

"Oh my Lord, Pippi! Sweetie, are you alright? Where are you? What hap-"

"Mommy-I mean Mom! I'm fine. I was trapped in the graveyard, and a boy named Ninten came and found me. I-"

"Were you kidnapped? What happened?"

"No, I wasn't kidnapped, Mom. Something really weird happened at home. Stuff started flying around, and I was pulled out the window-"

"What? Honey, you aren't making any sense. Stuff thrown around how?"

". . . I don't know. By themselves, I guess. I crashed through the window the same way. . . by an unseen force, or something."

There's silence on the other end. "Pippi, there's no reason to make excuses for a few accidents. Please tell me the truth. Did you break the window? And run away from home?"

"No! I _am_ telling the truth! Honestly I-"

"Piper Anne Lindgren, you will stop this nonsense, or I will ground you from that NIS-or whatever it is you kids play with these days. I'm coming to get you right now. Are you downtown?"

"But, Mom, I. . . ."

"No 'buts,' young lady."

Pippi huffs. "It's N-_E_-S, not N-_I_-S," she corrects, putting emphasis on the middle letters. "And yes, we're downtown. Outside the department store."

"We?"

"Ninten's here too. He's the one who rescued me from the cemetery."

"Oh? And what's _he_ doing out this late?"

"He's ru-"

I cut her off, gesticulating frantically, and mouthing the word 'no.'

"-He's, uh. . . on his way to visit his cousin in one of the apartments. He was on his way there when he found me, and decided to stay with me until you came."

"Oh, well that is very kind of him. Now, I expect the full truth about what happened when we get home, okay? It will make things much easier for both of us."

Pippi does not respond.

"Sweetie, I just want you home safe. I've been so worried about you. Just wait right where you are, and I'll come and get you. I love you."

". . . Okay, Mom. I love you too." She hangs up and sighs, turning around to face me. "Why is it that grown-ups always think we make stuff up even when we're telling the truth? What's the point of even telling the truth if they won't believe it?"

"I don't know," I reply. "I guess they still have to learn that we have brains too, and more often than not, the truth is crazier than any lie."

Lies can be altered; made to make sense. It's the insane _truth_ that can never be changed, no matter how many lies are told to cover it up. I had to lie to my mom about why I was leaving and where I was going, because if I told her the truth, what would she think? And maybe with Grandpa's obsession about aliens taking over the world, he wasn't crazy at all. He was simply insisting on a truth that no one believed.

"Well, I guess I'm going home, then," Pippi mutters solemnly at the ground.

"Yeah, but maybe it's for the best. I mean, I have no idea how long I'm going to be gone, and. . . well, I wouldn't want you to get seriously hurt or anything." I stare down at the sidewalk.

Pippi jerks her head up and opens her mouth, as if to protest, but closes it and turns back to the ground. Apparently, she doesn't feel like arguing right now. That's okay, because I don't either.

Neither of us are very talkative as we stand under the harsh yellow light of the buzzing streetlamp, watching the windows of apartments and shops go dark as store-owners close up and residents retire to bed. The resonating hum of cicadas reaches our ears from the surrounding forest, cutting through the warm, still air.

Pippi yawns, and leans against the pay phone box, flicking one of her red braids behind her shoulder. "Aren't you gonna call _your_ mom?" she asks.

"Yeah, but I'm going to wait. I don't want to be on the phone when your mom shows up."

"Oh. True."

At that moment, a white car turns the corner and pulls up in front of us. Pippi's mother, dressed in lounge clothing with her hair falling out of a messy bun, hops out of the drivers side, rushing over and nearly smothering her daughter in a bone-crushing embrace. Then she pulls away, bending down to Pippi's eye level.

"Oh, Pipsqueak, I was so worried about you. . ."

"Mom, don't call me that!" Pippi whispers, then glances over at me to see if I heard. Her mom's eyes follow.

"Oh, so you must be Ninten." She stands up. "Thank you for finding my daughter, and going out of your way for her sake. I hope she didn't cause you too much trouble."

Nope. She merely talked nonstop about absolutely nothing, almost got me killed by a crazy farmer with a pitchfork, and made me spend over half of my allowance money on a canary chick that we took back to the forest. Nope, no trouble at all. I didn't say any of this aloud though.

"No way, Mom! Me and Ninten are best buddies now. Right?" Pippi looks over at me, smiling broadly.

"Yep. Sure are." I smile back and nod.

"Oh, okay, good," Ms. Lindgren replies. "Do you need a ride to your cousin's or anything?" she asks me.

I had almost forgot about my little fib that Pippi repeated to her mom over the phone. "Oh, no! He only lives a few blocks away. Thanks anyway though."

"No problem. Well, come on Pippi, let's get you home." She pats Pippi on the back and walks back over to the driver's side of the vehicle. Pippi starts for the front passenger door.

"No, no, no, young lady. You aren't big enough to sit up front just yet." Ms. Lindgren wags a finger at her from the opposite side of the car. Pippi huffs, and reaches for the back door.

"Later, Pipsqueak," I say teasingly, waving goodbye.

She whips her head around, narrowing her eyes at me. However, a smile soon creeps across her face, and she laughs, waving back. Pippi steps inside the car, but pauses before shutting the door. She taps the left side of her chest, mouthing the words "good luck."

I look down at my shirt, where I had pinned the Franklin Badge. I tap it, looking back to her. She does a single, quick nod while smiling, and I reciprocate. Then, she shuts the door and I watch as the car drives off down the road and turns a corner.

I linger under the streetlamp for a few moments, realizing how alone I truly am now that Pippi is gone. I stand there, pondering what to do next, then remember the call that I still have to make. I bring out the mason jar, fishing for a quarter, then push one through the slot. I dial the number and take a deep breath as the phone begins to ring. One of my sisters answers. I can't tell which one, since they sound exactly the same over the phone.

"Hi, uh, Minnie?" I speak into the receiver.

"Oh, hey bro!" She replies. "Where in the heck are you? Mom's starting to worry-" her voice is cut off.

"Hello?" Mom's voice breaks through the other end, sounding slightly angry.

". . . Hey, Mom. It's me." I answer, hesitant at her tone.

"Ninten, where are you? Are you staying over at Matt's? Or Jeremy's?"

Matt and Jeremy are two of my closest friends on the baseball team.

"You need to tell me before you-"

"No, mom. I'm not at either of their houses."

"Then where are you? . . . Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. But. . . I can't tell you where I am." I didn't want to risk her driving down to get me, like Pippi's mom had.

"Why not? What's going on?" Her voice becomes confused, with a hint of annoyance.

"You wouldn't understand. I just called to assure you that I'm okay. You really don't have to worry about me."

"Well, I am past worried, young man. I told you to be back in time for dinner! Are you still at the baseball park?"

"I never went to the baseball park, Mom." I hesitate. "Look, It wasn't anything you, Minnie, or Mimmie did that made me leave, but. . . I'm not coming home." My voice quivers as I begin to break down.

"Ninten, what are you talking about?. . . Oh no. Please don't tell me this has anything to do with what you and your father discussed over the phone." Her tone suddenly becomes stern.

"Well. . ." I begin.

"You get your butt back home right this instant, young man. I will not have this."

"Please. I'm _really_ sorry, but there is something that I know I have to do-"

"There is _nothing_ you have to do except get back to this house, mister."

"Mom, please just listen to me." I struggle to keep my voice stable. "What if Grandpa was right? What if I _am_ supposed to be a part of what he was doing?"

There is a short span of silence.

"Ninten. . . You're right. I don't understand. I don't understand how you can be pursuing something that is so perfectly insane! You are twelve years old!" Her voice becomes softer and slightly desperate. "I know for a fact that the only thing you need to be a part of right now is _this_ family. And the only place you need to be is _home_. Please just tell me where you are, and I will come and get you. Then we can talk, and sort this whole thing out. All right?"

My voice shakes. "Mom, you can't help me with this. I can't tell you where I am, or how long I'm going to be gone, but it won't be forever. I just have to figure out what it is that I'm supposed to do. I promise that I'll call you as often as I can."

"Honey, please. . . Don't do this. Just tell me where you are." Mom's voice trembles.

"Everything's going to be all right, Mom. Trust me." I pause, and a tear trickles down my cheek. "I love you." I hang up, cutting off her pleading protests.

I squeeze my eyes shut, leaning forward to rest my head against the top of the pay phone box. The pressure causes the cut across my forehead to throb with pain, but I ignore it. I deserve every bit of it.

After a few more seconds, I lift my head, wiping tears from my cheeks, and begin walking down the sidewalk in the direction Ms. Lindgren's car had disappeared. All of the buildings are dark and silent as I pass with my head down. Upon reaching a small grove of trees at the end of the street, I throw my backpack on the ground in front of one, then lie down and rest my head on it.

I stare up at the bright white moon; the same one that I had viewed from my bedroom window at home just the night before. What was I thinking, leaving like I did? Mick was right. I don't know where to go, or what to do. And now Mom probably thinks I hate her.

Sighing, I begin thinking about the last melody I'd heard, and the one before that. Why am I hearing them? And more so, why do I keep hearing a voice that nobody else can hear? Even though I don't quite understand it, I have a feeling that these melodies are important somehow. At the moment, they are the only things keeping me from believing that I'm crazy for doing this. And maybe I'd made a mistake, leaving home the way I had. But it would be an even bigger mistake to go back and possibly lose my chance of ever finding any answers. Grandpa wouldn't have wanted me to give up. If everything that he knew was true, and me and my psychic abilities are significant in some unknown way, I can't give up.

_Grandpa. . . help me to understand_. I close my eyes and think to myself.

Now, how did those melodies go again? Oh yeah.

_Take a melody. . . Simple as can be. . ._


	5. Chapters 7-8

Chapter 7

"Mick, stop it. . ." I mumble as something brushes against my face the next morning. Without opening my eyes, I raise my hands to push Mick's head away. However, instead of feeling my dog's soft fur, my fingers come into contact with something hairless, wrinkled, and rather leathery.

Opening my eyes groggily, and squinting in the sunlight, I find myself staring up into two large, round nostrils. Suddenly grasping reality, I inhale sharply, which causes me to choke on my saliva. In a coughing fit, I scoot back up against the tree trunk, blinking incredulously at the massive creature towering above me. It is a fully grown elephant, flapping it's broad ears back and forth and curling it's trunk.

I gape at it, stunned speechless. This has to be a dream. Elephants do not just run around wild in this part of the world. The only place around here that you can see them is the Choucream Zoo. I put a hand to my head, then notice that I do not feel my hat. Panicked, I stand up and run my hand over my black hair, searching the ground frantically. It isn't until I hear a screech from the branches above that I look up, catching sight of the red and blue baseball cap held within the tiny clutches of a capuchin monkey. What the heck? Had these animals escaped from the zoo or something?

The tree is a large, tall oak, with no branches low enough for me to grab hold of and climb. I have no food to coax the monkey down, and by the way it chatters tauntingly in the canopy above, it obviously is not about to give up it's stolen prize. This leaves me one option. I glance around me, scanning the grove, streets, and windows for anyone who might be watching. Seeing no one, I turn my attention back to the situation above me and stare intently at the hat, willing it towards me. Gradually, it begins to pull away from the capuchin's body, although still held tightly in the creature's grasp. I had never really been sure if monkeys could make the kinds of facial expressions humans could, but the one crossing it's face now could not be mistaken for anything besides utter confusion. It gives a frustrated shriek, struggling to hold on to the hat with both arms fully extended in front of it, participating in this seemingly one-way tug-of-war.

At last, the hat is ripped from the capuchin's fingers and comes flying towards me. I snatch it out of the air, then position it on my head with a satisfied smirk. The monkey paces it's branch in obvious puzzlement, screeching and chattering down at me.

At that moment, the wail of police sirens can be heard in the distance, no doubt heading towards the zoo. Snatching my backpack from the ground, I raise my hand to the monkey in a salutation of farewell, then set off in the direction of the sirens.

Police cruisers and animal control vehicles are parked outside the zoo entrance; the black iron gates are swung wide open below an arch bearing the words "CHOUCREAM ZOO." Near one of the cruisers, an officer with a clipboard stands with a man and woman, who, by their attire, appear to be zookeepers. As I approach, I become aware of a resonating, high-frequency humming that seems to come from nowhere in particular.

"Um, excuse me." I say as I approach the group. The two zookeepers turn their heads to look at me, and the officer glances up from his clipboard with a slight look of annoyance.

"Son, this is a police investigation. Unless you're a witness, I suggest you step back for the time being and let us do our job." He turns back to his clipboard.

"Well. . . I'm not exactly a witness, but in case it helps, I saw an elephant and a monkey back that way." I point in the direction I had come. "They were in a grove of trees over near the department store."

Without looking up, the officer replies, "Well, I'm not surprised. So far, I've got reports of a zebra in a lady's garden, penguins in the drugstore icebox, and tigers on the school playground. Thank God school's out."

"I swear I double-checked the locks on all the pens last night. I don't see how the animals could've escaped," the woman says. "It's hard to estimate when exactly they were let loose, but. . ." She wrinkles her nose and puts both hands to her ears. "Oh, what the hell is that _ringing?_ I'm sorry, but I don't think I can take much more of this. It's giving me a migraine." She closes her eyes and massages her temples with two fingers.

"It's been doing that since I got here," the man begins. "Do you suppose that could be a reason for the animals' behavior? Animals are very sensitive to sound."

"Yeah. . . and so am I," the woman utters.

"We'll look into it," the officer replies. "But for now we should focus on finding the animals and getting them under control."

I stand by, watching his pencil move across the paper as he jots down information. He soon notices me staring, and pauses, glancing up.

"Look, now, you've done your part. I shouldn't even be allowing you over here." He finishes writing, then tucks the clipboard beneath his armpit. "You should probably get on home, because obviously it's not safe to be running around town with wild animals on the loose."

"Yes, sir. I just thought I'd let you know about those two." Turning, I head back in the direction of the grove, but of course, I don't go back. Instead, I sneak alongside the fence which runs the length of the zoo and peer through the chain-link wiring at the empty exhibits. Not a single one of them is occupied, and some of the fencing around them is broken. The ringing sound grows louder as I approach a cluster of tan brick buildings with flickering lights; a gift shop and the superintendent's office. Whatever is going on, it isn't normal. Perhaps a poltergeist is invading the zoo as well?

I slip my baseball bat into my backpack and dig the toes of my shoes into the fence, climbing up and over the top. However, the top is lined with sharp metal wire ends, typical of a chain-link fence. It would be nearly impossible to climb onto the other side without being poked, so I have no choice but to jump down from the very top, causing my feet to smart as I land on the cobblestones below. Recovering, I make a beeline for the superintendent's office, which, to my surprise, is unlocked. If this is another poltergeist, maybe I'll be able to stop it like I had at my house.

Inside, the resonating humming is ear-splitting, causing me to screw up my face and place both hands over my ears. The walls are covered in maps and wildlife posters. A shelf stocked with books and brochures sits against one wall, and a wooden desk with a computer occupies the space next to the window. The lights continue flickering, and I see something rise up from the floor behind the desk. The object is pill-shaped and about the size of a football. One half is colored a deep blue, and the other white. It sits suspended in mid-air at my level of vision for a few seconds before splitting open with a blinding light. In its place, stands a being a few feet taller than me, almost reaching the ceiling. It is covered in smooth, metallic skin with a pink hue, and appears almost machine-like. There is a black visor where its eyes should be, and nothing can be seen inside.

I stand with mouth agape against the closed door of the office, not sure what to do. Is it. . . an alien? The being turns its attention my way, as if examining me, then speaks in a resonant voice.

"This is the one. The descendent of our leader's father." A wave of air bursts from the center of the alien's body, shattering the window and sending the desk flying in my direction. I raise my arms up over my face and shut my eyes, bracing for the blow, but it never comes. Instead, I hear a sharp crack, and I open my eyes to see the desk lying broken a few feet away. Books come flying off the shelves and collide with an unseen barrier in front of me, sending luminescent ripples across it. I lower my hands and stare at them. Did I just-

The alien lifts one arm, which narrows off to a rounded point, and fires a bright red beam in my direction, penetrating the shield and blowing through the wall near my head. I try to open the door and escape, but the knob won't budge. It prepares to fire again, and I reach back to grab my baseball bat, then rush at the enemy, preparing to send a blow to its midsection. It disappears into thin air directly in front of me and I skid to a halt, in a state of shock and confusion, when it appears suddenly behind me. As I whirl around, it whacks me sharply in the chest and I fall to the floor. I begin to inhale spasmodically, struggling to get a full breath of air. Why now? _Why now?_ I reach into my pocket, bringing out and fumbling with the inhaler, but the alien being sends out another wave of air, knocking it out of my hands and sending the baseball bat rolling out of reach.

As I lay there, gasping, the alien looms over me, pointing its arm down at my chest. It releases another bright red beam, and once again I brace for the blow. Once again, it never comes. Instead, I hear a short, high-pitched "ping," and the charge is deflected back at the enemy, sending it stumbling backwards to the floor.

Seizing the opportunity, I scramble over to where my inhaler lay, giving it a few puffs and regaining my ability to breathe normally. Placing it back in my pocket, I glance over to where the otherworldly being rests, its skin singed from the deflected attack. I get up to retrieve my bat, then inch cautiously toward the fallen alien to inspect it, and to be certain that it's dead.

The lights had stopped flickering, and the intense humming had dissipated. The sudden silence is almost deafening. I prod the smoldering body with my shoe, and, receiving no response, begin to walk away. Instantaneously, its arm shoots out, and the narrow end, as if semi-solid, curls around my ankle. My skin prickles in fear, and I slowly turn my head back towards the alien. It doesn't make any sort of aggressive move, however. Instead, it speaks with the same strong, resonant voice.

"Do not assume you can get away this easily. Even though you have destroyed me, there are more where I come from. This small victory means nothing, for in the end, your's and the others' fates have already been decided."

"The. . . others? What others?" I ask, still in shock from the previous events.

The being does not respond. Instead, its body begins to melt into a pool of viscous silver liquid. I jerk my foot out of its grasp as the arm starts to liquify.

Others? What had it meant by others? I stare at the puddle in front of me, then step over it and open the door leading out of the office; the knob is no longer stuck. The air outside is hot and still, like yesterday, and I tug at the bandanna around my neck, thinking over what had happened inside that office.

Some sort of otherworldly being had been in that building, obviously with intentions of killing me and whoever these "others" are. It _had_ almost killed me, but something had stopped the desk from completely squashing me; some sort of shield that I had put up in defense. I never knew that I could put up psychic shields. All I've ever been able to do is lift or move things with my mind. Will it work now?

I slowly raise my arms and cross them in front of me, then close my eyes and concentrate. After a minute, I still don't feel any sort of energy, so I frown and open my eyes, confused and disappointed. I let my gaze fall down to my shirt, where the Franklin Badge is still secured. I rub my thumb up against it, remembering Pippi's words before she departed in her mother's car. She hadn't even known what the badge was, but boy was she right. This was one helluva luck charm. If I had never come across Pippi on my way into town. . . Heck, if she had never won the badge from an arcade vending machine, I probably wouldn't be alive right now. Funny how the world works sometimes. What was that thing that attacked me anyway? It _definitely_ wasn't from Earth.

Remembering Grandpa's diary, I slip off my backpack and fish it out. Maybe Grandpa had written about them? I thumb through the pages until I come across one with a pen sketch of the alien. Above it, George had written the word "Starman," and a paragraph of text accompanied the picture. According to him, Starmen are beings from space with great intelligence and the ability to speak any human language. They are also users of many forms of PSI, which had been fairly obvious. How many forms of PSI are there? Did I have the ability to use them all, and I just didn't know it? I stuff the diary back into my backpack and don it upon my shoulders.

As I make my way through the zoo, heading for the entrance, a capuchin monkey darts out from some bushes on my right and stops in front of me, sitting on its haunches. It holds a wooden stick which is rounded at one end, like a mallet. I can swear it's the same one that stole my hat, for it bears the same manner of mischief and intelligence. After a few seconds of inspecting me, it puts the mallet in its mouth and drops to all fours, scurrying across the path and turning around a fenced-in enclosure.

I furrow my eyebrows, then follow it across the cobblestones and around the fence. I scan the area and spot the monkey about 22 yards away, opening a gate to one of the enclosures and entering. It shuts the door behind it, and as I approach, I notice it take the thin wooden mallet out of its mouth and stick the narrow end into the lock, turning it around.

I stop in front of the enclosure, filled with ropes, trees, and log jungle gyms. A piece of half-eaten fruit lies on the ground next to a colorful xylophone, the cheap kind you would see in a children's daycare. The monkey is situated in front of the instrument, fiddling with the mallets.

I tug on the gate, but it won't open. The capuchin had locked it with the mallet stick, which probably meant that it had_unlocked_ the gate too. Perhaps when the humming noise began, the monkey escaped and unlocked the other enclosures as well, setting all the animals free. Now that the sound had stopped, it was putting itself back in its "cage." Why? I don't know. I guess it realized that being free isn't all it's cracked up to be.

I glance over to the information panel. It tells facts about capuchin monkeys, which is expected, but along one side is a column of text entitled "Marty the Musical Monkey." Well, that explains the xylophone.

I watch Marty position the mallets over the instrument, then strike the bars, producing a few tinkling notes. Hearing the same soft, melodic voice that had accompanied the other two melodies, I instantly perk up, listening attentively.

_"Give it some words and. . ."_

A third melody.

I stroll out of the zoo through the front gates, spotting the police officer and the two zookeepers conversing with another man near an animal control vehicle. The officer glances in my direction, then does a double take. He stalks over, followed by the two zookeepers.

"I thought I told you go home, kid! How did you get into the zoo?" The officer is obviously angry and annoyed.

I ignore him and turn to the zookeepers. "You might want to think about getting Marty some different mallets. I saw him put himself back in his cage and lock it using one of them. I think he set himself and all the other animals free that way."

"But why? He's never done that before." The woman appears puzzled, then glances questioningly to the man. The officer wears a grim expression as he glares at the two zookeepers, probably irritated that they were listening to me, a stubborn kid who was interrupting his investigation.

"It was because of that ringing sound from earlier. I took care of it, and if you knew what was causing it, you would thank me." I look up to the officer. "I'm sorry if I've caused you trouble, and I hope you can get the animals back. It should be easier since the sound stopped." I start walking away.

"Well. . . what on Earth was it?" The officer calls after me.

I turn around and hesitate before responding. "Nothing like on Earth." I reply, and continue walking.

He shouts back, "And what's that supposed to mean?!"

Chapter 8

Small hills and cliffs rise up in the eastern outskirts of town; their stone faces jagged, cracked, and dark-streaked from decades of wind, freezings, and precipitation. Because of all the uneven terrain, there aren't any buildings here. I just continue on, fanning my face with my hat and wondering where in the heck I'm even going.

Suddenly, I hear a soft, whispering voice come out of nowhere. It is very quiet and airy, and I would have thought it was the wind, but on a day like this, it obviously isn't. I stop and listen for a moment, then shrug it off and continue walking. Soon, I hear it again, and this time I can actually make out words. It's the melodies that I've been hearing, sung by a sweet, melodic woman's voice. I proceed slowly until I can figure out where the voice is coming from, which seems to be somewhere within the cliff and growing clearer as I approach. Upon reaching a cluster of bushes, I push my way through them and scrape aside a layer of kudzu, revealing a somewhat narrow opening within the rock face. Barely able to squeeze through with my backpack, I make it inside the cave, the space of which is wider from within, but also pitch black. Keeping my hands placed against the rough wall of the cave, I cautiously take a few steps forward and another opening comes into view, bathed in a soft pink light which is peeking out from around a corner. I draw my hands away from the wall and gaze inquisitively at the illuminated dirt floor, then proceed into the opening and turn the corner. My eyes widen as I find myself standing not ten feet away from what appears to be a giant, spiraled pink seashell.

The light radiates outward from the object, dancing across the rugged cave walls. It is bright, considering that the cave is nearly pitch black, however it does not hurt my eyes to stare at it for long moments. Near the tip of the shell-like object, I take notice of something inscribed in black on the smooth pink surface. I advance slowly until I am able to make out what the inscription is, which turns out to be two small X's written side by side. I recognize it as the symbol which had been repeated several times throughout Grandpa's diary. What does it mean, and what does this thing even do?

I reach out and brush my fingers against the smooth, glossy surface of the object, then press my whole palm onto it. It is warm, but at the same time cold. It creates a feeling of what it might be like to touch snow and find it to be warm. Suddenly, I hear a question enter my mind. The voice speaking sounds highly feminine, but also contains detectable male undertones.

_"Who has lost his tail?"_

. . .What? What the heck did that mean? Who has lost his tail. . .? I stand there, thinking. I somewhat recall coming across sentences in George's diary that had to do with a tail, but I never actually read into it. I draw my hand away from the smooth surface and slip off the backpack, bringing out George's diary and flipping through it until I find the section where it talks about the XX symbol. A few pages after that, I find the answer written in a passage:

_After many weeks of admittedly obsessing over the XX riddle, I believe I have finally found the answer. If the 'tail' that is indicated is indeed the God's Tail, then undoubtedly, it is he who has lost his tail. The riddle asks, "Who has lost his tail," and I must answer that it is the god. The forgotten one of the ship that sails the cosmos. A tail is not merely an extra appendage, or psuedo-limb, but a body part that provides balance. It is true that he is irrational, emotionally distressed, and has lost all sanity. Therefore, he has lost all means of balance. Perhaps he is considered 'forgotten' and 'left behind' because I escaped. I left him. . . and Maria. I never meant to leave without Maria. But there was absolutely no way to reach her, and I had no choice. I was in trouble. I've been trying so very hard to find a way back to her and bring her home, and possibly this riddle is the way to finally reach her. But I know I cannot, for he has locked me out. As much as I would like to find Maria, this riddle is meant for someone else. Someone whom I do not yet know, but feel strangely close to. It is in my sincerest hope that this diary falls into their good hands, and when it does, they will know what to do. So whoever, wherever, and whenever you are. . . I wish you luck.  
-George_

I know that the "someone" he's talking about is me. So, I really am supposed to be a part of everything that's going on. This is the way to find Maria? Will I really get to meet my great-grandmother, and will she even know who I am? I stuff the diary back into my bag and press my hand against the rock formation. Once again, I hear the question enter my mind.

_"Who has lost his tail?"_

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and answer, _"The forgotten one of the ship that sails the cosmos."_

At first, nothing seems to happen, and after a few seconds I open my eyes, glancing around the darkness. Suddenly, the ground jolts sharply and begins to shake, causing me to cry out and drop to my knees as the world around me shifts. I reach out towards the glowing rock formation in attempt to steady myself from the nauseating swaying sensation I was feeling. However, my hand passes through it as if it were air, and the whole formation begins to stretch and distort out of shape while the floor spins. I blink my eyes, trying to focus, but the cave and the swirled object seem to vaporize into thin air, leaving me in complete and utter blackness.

_I hustle through the crowded hallways, hugging my schoolbooks tightly to my chest. The door to my next class, Algebra, is approximately twenty feet away. Now, if I can only make it there without encountering-_

_Suddenly, a foot shoots out from the crowd and I trip, crashing down onto the linoleum floor. My glasses fly off my face, and I grope for them blindly amidst the forest of legs and feet. A large, heavy shoe is being placed upon my back, pinning me to the floor._

_"Think you're so sneaky, do ya?" comes a voice from above me. I don't even have to look to know that it's Brutus, the meanest kid in school. No one is brave enough to stand up to him, they just linger by and watch him pick on whoever he chooses-which is usually me. He's the one I'd been trying to avoid on my way to Algebra, but hadn't been very successful in doing so. Nobody is mean to Brutus, Brutus is mean to everybody, and everybody is mean to me. _

_"Huh, loser?" He presses down with his foot slightly._

_Still searching for my glasses, all I manage to get out is "Uu. . ugh."_

_"Well, think again!" Brutus bellows._

_"What. . . did I ever do to_ you, _Brutus?" I manage to ask under the weight of his foot. _

_He laughs scornfully. "Ha! Me? What did_ you _ever do to_ me? _Only scar my eyesight every time you come into my line of vision!"_

_"Well, that's your own fault, Brutus. I mean, you choose to come pick on me. If you would just leave me alone, then you would never have to see-"_

_Brutus suddenly bends down next to my ear and hisses, "Hey, now you shut your trap, you little nobody!" He lifts his foot off my back and steps over me, seizing my brown canvas messenger bag. "You got any food in here, freak?"_

_"No! Stop!" I yell. But too late. Brutus upends the bag, dumping its contents to the floor. Clattering onto the linoleum among pencils, notebooks, and folders, are two fairly large bottle rockets, which I had been planning to use for a secret experiment in the science lab._

_He laughs in disbelief. ". . . Oh, ho, ho. . . No way! Look everybody! The little albino wimp brought bottle rockets to school again!" By this time, everyone has turned and is watching the humiliating scene unfold in front of them. _

_"Dang, you might actually have some guts doin' this again, even after Mrs. Hessford suspended you for two weeks last time!" He snickers. "But I bet you don't have enough guts to take this!" Brutus lifts his foot, as if preparing to kick it into my side, but the principle-Mrs. Hessford-rounds the corner at that moment._

_"Now, just what on Earth is going on here?" She yells, exasperated. _

_Brutus immediately sets his foot down, and puts on a fake kindness act, bending down and gathering my scattered school items. _

_"Oh, I'm so sorry Leo, er- Leroy. . . I mean Lloyd!" He stuffs the notebooks and folders back into my bag. "Oh, do you need your glasses? Here they are." He walks a small ways ahead of me, bending down to pick the spectacles up, then hands them to me. _

_Given my eyesight back, I'm able to take in my surroundings. Everyone in the hallway is staring at me, including Mrs. Hessford, with her graying hair pulled back into a tight bun, and wearing an equally tight scowl. Disapproval is written all over her face. _

_As I stuff the bottle rockets back into my bag and stand up, Mrs. Hessford begins speaking in a low, flat tone._

_"Lloyd, I'm going to have to ask that you come to my office with me. I believe that I made it plenty clear last time that there would be very heavy consequences if I was ever to see those fireworks on school grounds again."_

_"But-Mrs. Hessford-I-" I stutter. _

_"I will not tolerate excuses, Lloyd. Come along to my office." She pivots on her heel and starts to turn the corner. _

_From behind me, Brutus mumbles loud enough so that the principle can hear, "Fine. . . Mrs. Hiss-Fart!" _

_Mrs. Hessford whirls around as snickers emanate throughout the student body."Excuse me?" She glares directly at me. "Lloyd, get into my office right now, before I come over there and drag you to it!" _

_"But-it-it wasn't me! Honestly it-" _

_"I said that I would not tolerate excuses, young man! Now, come with me!" She starts toward me, and out of instinct, I sprint down the hall in the opposite direction. _

_Brutus utters the word "loser" as I pass, but I pay him no mind. I run through the halls and fly through the back door. Spying the large green dumpsters off to the side, I rush over to them and climb inside of one, doing my best to ignore the revolting stench of spoiled school lunch. I crouch in the corner among milk cartons, rotting apples, and half-eaten burgers, hugging my schoolbag to my chest. Now, wasn't this just splendid. Here I am, hiding in a smelly dumpster from a principle who is probably going to expel me, and all I had wanted to do was go to Algebra._


	6. Chapter 9

_"The two most powerful warriors are patience and time. . . So remember: great achievements take time, there is no overnight success."  
-Leo Tolstoy_

Chapter 9

Blinking my eyes open, I find myself lying on my back in a sea of soft, pink clouds. The sky above me is tinted sea-foam green, and the air carries the sweet aroma of. . . carnations? I sit up and take in my surroundings, feeling oddly at peace in this strange place. The sea of clouds seems to stretch on forever, and a hazy white mist lingers in the air. A slow-moving river of the same color as the sky flows a small ways from where I am sitting, and behind me is a tall, white, swirling rock formation that rises at least ten feet above my head. It reminds me of the pink one in the cave that led me here, however this object appears more like a unicorn horn than a seashell.

I stand up and realize that I do not have my baseball bat or backpack with me. The Franklin Badge is gone too. Did I still have my. . . "Oh no. _No._" I speak aloud, patting my empty pockets. My inhaler is gone. What if I have an attack or something? Am I just supposed to lay here and. . . Oh, God. "Am I dead?" I ask aloud, and to my surprise, a woman's voice answers from the direction of the river.

"Of course you aren't dead! Although you may be dressed like a fool, I would never have guessed that you were _actually_foolish."

I walk over to the river, look up and down it, but see no one. "Hello? Who was talking?" I ask.

"It was I," the voice replies.

I look across the water and see a large, white lioness sitting calmly on the opposite bank, directing her arctic blue eyes in my direction.

"You? Who are you? And where am I?"

"You are in Magicant. A land with no boundaries, nor time. It is a land where people and animals talk alike, which explains why we can understand each other now. As for me, I have no name, but would you care to tell me yours?"

"I'm Ninten. I came here because of a riddle, and I'm looking for a woman named Maria."

The lioness turns her gaze down at the soft green water, murmuring the name a few times before looking up. "I know not of a Maria, however, our queen's name is Mary. Perhaps you mean Her Majesty?"

I let out a dispirited sigh. "No. I do mean Maria. She was my great-grandma and. . . well. . . never mind. It's a long story. Can you send me back, since there was a mistake?"

"Oh, no, I'm afraid not. Only Queen Mary can do that. But surely there was no mistake, for if you are here, Her Majesty must have called out to you somehow."

I'm about to reply, when a melodic, sweet-sounding voice echoes through the air, singing two of the melodies I have heard so far. There is a pause, then the singing starts over, this time stopping in the middle of the third melody. "Who is that?" I ask the lioness.

"That's Queen Mary." The lioness sighs, looking down. "She tries desperately to recall a song she used to sing, but can never remember more than the first few melodies. I'm afraid it brings her much sorrow."

"Can you tell me where to find her? I need to speak to her."

The cat looks up at me. "Oh? So suddenly you wish to stay?"

"Yes. I happen to know a thing or two about the song she's trying to remember, and maybe that's the reason I'm here." I think I'm finally beginning to figure this out.

"You know about the song?" the lioness asks, somewhat surprised. "If I may ask. . . do you have. . . no, never mind, Queen Mary will know. Her castle is that way," the lioness lifts a paw, which points forward. "It shouldn't be very difficult to find, though, if you do happen to get lost, you can always ask the people here for help. In Magicant, everyone is your friend."

I turn around, scanning the land for a castle, but the mist conceals the horizon. I turn back when the wise cat speaks again.

"However, you may want to be careful around the castle guards. They are the queen's protectors after all, and although they may seem harsh, I can assure you that they have kind souls and wish harm upon no one but the greatest evil."

"Okay, thanks, but, is there any way that I can get my stuff back?"

"No, I'm sorry. There are some things that magic can't do." The lioness responds solemnly.

I sigh and stare down at the pink clouds at my feet. "It's just that I was carrying some important things, and I don't think I can go on without my-"

She interrupts, "You have no need for any of it here, but look at yourself. You are certainly not helpless without it! However, do not worry. When you leave, you will once again have it all back in your possession." She stands and wades into the water.

I stare at her in puzzlement, remembering a time in fourth grade when my friend Jeremy and I tried to give his cat a bath. It was a feat that resulted in scratches up and down our arms, soap suds all over the house, a lengthy grounding for both of us by our moms, as well as a very unhappy cat, who, to this day, has never forgiven me.

"What is the matter?" The lioness's voice brings me out of my daydream.

"Huh? Oh, it's just that you're a cat. . . and you're swimming."

"Well, yes, of course! We cats love the water!" She walks further into the river until she is submerged up to her chin, then begins to pedal through the water.

I look on, bemused. "Well, it's just that, where I'm from. . ." I watch the cat swim blissfully around in a circle with her eyes closed, obviously not paying attention to me. "Never mind. Thanks for the help!"

The lioness opens her eyes and replies, "It was my pleasure. I hope you find your grandmother!"

Turning, I start heading in the direction that the cat had indicated. All the while I am walking, I look around at my surroundings in awe. Small groves of strange trees grow straight out of the clouds. Their trunks are colored a soft magenta, spiraling gracefully up into a crown of long, flowing, turquoise leaves. Scattered over the land and near the groves are houses in the shapes of spiraled seashells.

I start walking over a wooden bridge, no doubt made from the odd-looking trees, that leads across the river. Stopping halfway across, I stoop down and dip my fingers into the pastel green water. It is warm, yet cold, not unlike the rock formation in the cave. I smile in wonderment.

"Who are you?" a small child's voice rings out from behind me.

Startled, I whip my head around, catching a glimpse of a little girl before losing my balance and plunging into the river below. When I resurface, I take a deep breath of air, rub my eyes, and search the water for my baseball cap, which had fallen off. The little girl is standing and laughing on the bridge above me. She's wearing a bright red dress with a matching wizard hat that sits atop her head of shoulder-length blonde curls. She looks to be about five or six years old.

"Silly goose!" She yells at me before bursting into another fit of giggles.

Finally, I find my hat, wring it out, and place it back on my head while my face burns in embarrassment. Without looking at the girl, I haul myself back onto the bridge, proceeding to squeeze the water from my shirt.

"Okay, okay, I'm done laughing now." The girl assures.

I look up at her and she looks back before letting out a quick, suppressed giggle.

"Okay, I swear!" She takes a deep breath and composes herself. "Now, really, who are you?"

"Who are _you?_" I reciprocate.

She crosses her arms and cocks her head. "I asked you first."

I roll my eyes crossly. "It's Ninten."

"Ninten? That's a strange name. But then again, you're a strange person." She wrinkles her face in a scrunched up smile. "I like you! I'm Rose. Pleased to make your accountance!" A cheerful smile spreads across her face, and she holds out her hand.

"You mean 'acquaintance?'" I ask.

"Oh, yes! Acquaintance! Pleased to make your acquaintance!" She thrusts her arm forward again, and we shake hands. "So, what are you doing here?" Rose asks as I stand and place my hat over my dripping wet hair.

"Honestly, I don't really know, but I'm on my way to see Queen Mary-"

"Really?" Rose interrupts, widening her striking blue eyes and staring up at me. "Are you here to help her? Can you?"

"I don't know, maybe," I reply.

She sighs, directing her attention to the ground. "I hope so. She's my mama, but for some reason she doesn't know who I am. I don't know what to do anymore."

Seeing Rose like this reminds me of my sisters. She looks just like them, and _acts_ like them too. Annoying, yet cute. I want to pat her on the back and tell her that everything is going to be all right, but she perks up again before I get the chance.

"But, it's okay, because _you're_ here. I know you can help her, I just _know_ it! I'm gonna go tell everyone!" She starts running away toward a village of seashell houses and yells a goodbye behind her.

I continue on, soaking wet, as the clouds drift and swirl with the motion of my feet. Nothing else moves, not even a breeze, and the sky remains the same. What the lioness had said about there being no time here seems reasonable. It truly feels as if time has stopped, and I am wandering through a dream world, for everything is so surreal. Maybe this _is_ all a dream. I should've asked _that_ instead of asking if I was dead. I reach over to pinch my arm, but stop. I'd already fallen head-first into a river, and it had felt way too real to be a dream. If anything could've woke me up, _that_ would have. Through the mist, a faint figure of a large structure can be seen, which is likely the castle. The shape of it is rather jagged and irregular, not exactly the typical storybook kind with knights and princes and damsels in distress.

A familiar voice cuts through the stillness, startling me, mostly because it had called my name. No one is in sight, but the voice calls out again. It's Dad's voice, I realize. Glancing around, I call out to him. I can't imagine that it could actually be my dad, though, because he's on a business trip in Ellay. At least, that's where he _says_ he is. Who knows where he actually went; he's gone so often, that we're pretty much a split family. No one knows anything anymore. But wait, the lioness said that the only way someone can get to Magicant is if Queen Mary wants them to, and why would she need my dad to come here?

"Ninten, son, it's been such a long time. Why don't you come on over here and give your ol' dad a hug?" the voice comes from behind me.

I whirl around, and my jaw involuntarily drops open. My dad, wearing the business clothes I last saw him in, is standing not ten feet in front of me, wearing a warm smile and holding out his arms for an embrace.

"Dad. . . What are you doing here?" I whisper in awe. "I thought you went-"

"On a business trip, yes." He nods downward, lowering his hands and slipping them into his jacket pockets. "I'm here because I knew _you_ were going to be here, and I thought that while time doesn't pass, I might as well explain everything to you. See that castle, yonder?" He points ahead in the direction of the jagged figure. I turn my head to look, and affirm that I know what he's talking about. However, when I look back, Dad is no longer standing there. In his place is a small man dressed in attire similar to the kind Rose had been wearing.

". . . Dad?" I ask, confused.

The man just smiles, his green eyes twinkling. "Guess again! I'm the Mimicker!"

"The what?"

"The Mimicker, of course! What had I just been doing?"

"Whatever it was, it wasn't very funny. I haven't seen my dad in a month, and the last time was only for a weekend." I say, turning back towards the castle.

"Well, you got to see him now, didn't you?"

"It's not the same."

"Hey, I didn't mean any harm. So, one can't take a simple joke? Fine, then, I'll go find someone else with a better sense of humor. I swear, you humans-"

"Wait!" I turn back around. "As my dad, you started to explain something. About what's going on, why I'm here, maybe."

"Oh, did I? Well, yes, I believe I did." He looks off into the distance, scratching his chin.

". . . Well?" I ask after a few seconds of silence.

He stops scratching and his eyes shift quickly over to me. He shrugs and replies, "Well, you're just gonna hafta' forget I said anything, because I don't know _nothin'_."

I huff and begin stalking in the direction of the castle, tired of being clueless about everything. Why does it all have to be so secretive? This whole deal would be so much simpler if someone could just _explain_ to me what I'm supposed to do, then I would do it, and everything would go back to normal. However, after coming this far, I already know that that is not how things are going to work for me. I'm just going to have to keep moving, find out the significance of the melodies, and also find out who these _others_ are that the starman mentioned.

At last, the grand castle looms only a small ways ahead of me. I seem to be wandering up a straight path where spiraled white columns rise up on either side of me, each bearing the XX symbol at the top. The castle, like all other structures in this land, appears to be built entirely of shell, but it is much larger and more complex than the simple, cone-shaped homes of the other residents. The castle walls have a most wonderful luster, like that of the inside of an oyster, with pearly greens, blues, pinks, whites, and silvers shimmering with an ethereal glow. I gaze up at the magnificent structure in awe as I advance toward the gate, when a strong masculine voice halts my approach.

"Halt! I command you to halt!" Three men dressed in medieval armor emerge from around the shell pillars on either side of the path. They surround me, peering out from silver Arthurian helmets as two of them draw their swords. In the center of each of their breastplates, the XX symbol is portrayed in intricate repoussé. Alarmed, I hold up my hands and start backing away from the advancing guards.

"Halt!" the voice yells again.

"Whoa, okay, all right." I stop. "I just came to see Queen Mary-"

A large, middle-aged, bearded man interrupts my explanation. "Her Majesty will not be seeing anyone today, for she is awaiting an important visit which is none of your concern."

A smaller, younger man responds in a quiet tone. "Oh, but Matthias, what if he's the one Her Majesty has been awaiting? Take a look at him."

Matthias keeps his gaze fixed upon me. "Nonsense, Samuel, the queen said that her visitor would be one of great power. This filthy little rogue is scrawny and sopping wet."

"Well, yes, but she also said that he would look a lot like-"

"Oh, yes! He would have a resemblance to. . ." He brings his head down, trying to get a better look at my face from underneath my hat. "Well, let me see you, son. If you could just remove your. . . headwear."

I take off my baseball cap and the guard approaches. He grabs my face in his armored hand, turning it first to one side, then to the other. The other two men come up behind him and gaze down at me.

"What do you think, Samuel? Does he look like him?" Matthias asks.

"Look like who?" I manage to question within the guard's iron grip. However, they ignore me.

"Well, I'll say," Samuel responds to Matthias.

"How 'bout you, Dominic?" Matthias turns to the third castle guard.

"He's got a little nick there," Dominic gestures to my forehead. "But otherwise, I'd say the resemblance is almost. . . striking."

Samuel and Dominic slide their swords back in their sheaths, and Matthias releases me. I rub my jaw where his fingers likely left permanent impressions.

"Well, if you truly are the one Her Majesty has been expecting, then you have my sincerest apologies. We will let you inside the castle, but there is to be no mischief, you hear? I'm afraid the queen has not been feeling very well, lately."

"Yes." I nod my head. "I understand."

"Good. Now come along this way." Matthias and the other two guards lead me through the gate and up to a set of lavender wooden doors. A silver knocker in the shape of a strange bird hangs from one of the doors, and Dominic gives it three even knocks. There comes a sound of wood sliding against metal, and the doors are opened and held by two noblemen.

I look up at Matthias, who gestures to the open entryway. I guess I'm on my own, now. Proceeding inside, I glance at the noblemen on either side of the doors, their gazes and expressions solemn and unshifting. When I clear the entrance, they shut the doors and slide a wooden plank through two metal bands to lock them, then resume their positions.

I'm standing in some sort of courtyard with a large, elegant fountain at the center. Plants unlike any I've ever seen before occupy much of the space, and a turquoise stone path makes it's way through the courtyard, circling the fountain, and leading to another set of doors. I walk along the path and run my fingers over the smooth, creamy marble of the fountain where crystalline water spouts gracefully out of the beaks of birds carved out from the stone; they appeared to be the same kind of bird that was on the knocker. In the pool below, small red and white striped snails crawl slowly along the marble bottom.

I continue through the garden and up to the doors, where another silver knocker rests against the lavender wood. I raise my hand to grab it, but the doors are opened by two more noblemen, as if they already know that I'm coming. The doors open up into a grand room with an emerald floor and white marble pillars rising up to the high ceiling. Their reflections descend into the lustrous emerald, making the room seem twice as large. Along the left wall, tall, arched windows provide a clear view of the vast sea of clouds stretching into the horizon, and between them are tall, thin, red plants with long, slender leaves. The outside light streams in through the glass and splashes down onto the royal red carpet running the length of the room and ending at the foot of an elaborate gold throne, upon which sits a slender, queenly figure. Next to her stand two tall birdlike beings with golden feathers, although their beaks, leg feathers, and tufts on the sides of their heads are colored a ruby-red. These must be the creatures that the fountain and knocker carvings are modeled after. As the wooden doors shut behind me with a resounding echo, the room soon becomes quiet, and I stand awkwardly a few feet before the carpet, unsure of what to do.

"Come forth, child," the woman on the throne commands in a stately manner. Although giving a formal order, her voice is angelic and rather comforting. I proceed forward, my wet sneakers squeaking on the smooth emerald surface, and leaving water tracks upon the red carpet. I halt before the throne. The queen wears a long, flowing dress of shimmering pink satin, and her light blonde hair cascades in graceful curls down her back and shoulders. Atop her head sits a simple, yet elegant crown of twisted golden vines and seashells.

"Your High-" I begin.

"Please," she smiles pleasantly, "Call me Queen Mary."

"-Queen Mary. . . Um, I'm not really sure why I'm here, but I've heard parts of the song that you're trying to remember, and-"

Queen Mary holds up a hand, silencing me. "Ninten, I know who you are, and do not worry, I've been expecting you."

"You. . . Really?" My voice seems stuck, and I can't get anything to come out right.

"Come closer, dear, I want to see you." She gestures for me to stand in front of her, and I obey.

She smiles at me, her crystal blue eyes twinkling. They seem bright and full of life, yet there is a hint of well-concealed sadness or exhaustion visible in them. "Oh, yes, you remind me of him so much. But what is this?" She lifts the bill of my baseball hat, revealing the gash on my forehead. "Already injured! But your journey's only just begun!" She chuckles and pulls my hat back down. "It's no matter. Nothing a little herbal tea can't fix! Perhaps you would like some, now?"

"Oh, no thanks, it's all right-" I try to turn down her offer politely.

"But I insist." She gestures to one of the birdlike creatures, who steps forward to take her order. "Will you please fetch some water from the fountain and heat it for our guest?"

The being gives a small nod and walks away with a swift, smooth gait. I watch as it disappears through the doorway, then turn back to Queen Mary.

"Okay, wait a minute." I put my hands out in front of me. "I just want to know, who is it that everyone says I look like?"

"Why, George, of course," she replies.

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. "Grandpa George? You knew my grandpa George?"

She gives a short chuckle. "I suppose you can say that."

"Oh, man. . . I have so many questions!. . . About everything!"

"And there is much you need to know. However, you are to _discover_ most of it when the time comes."

The birdlike being returns to the throne room, grasping a small steaming mug carefully in it's feathered hands. It approaches Queen Mary and hands it to her, who is quick to give her thanks. The Queen then rises from her seat, steps down to the floor, and walks in the direction of the windows, the hem of her satin dress trailing behind her. She pauses next to one of the plants and gestures for me to come.

As I approach, Queen Mary plucks two slender red leaves from a thin branch and sets them inside the mug, stirring slowly. She hands the tea to me, and I stare into it, then lift the mug to my nose and sniff it. It doesn't really smell like anything.

"What's it taste like?" I inquire. I've never been a very big fan of tea.

"Anything you like! This is a very special kind of tea that satisfies not only thirst, but also hunger. It'll be sure to fix you right up!"

At the sound of the word "hunger," my stomach growls, for I haven't eaten since the day before. I lift the mug to my lips and take a small sip. The sparkling flavor of fizzy soda spreads through my mouth.

"It tastes like Sprite or something!" I exclaim, taking another gulp. "Man, this place is awesome."

"Yes, well, it may seem that way to you. But it is the things in your world that fascinate us."

"Like what?" I ask. What on Earth could possibly be more fascinating than walking on clouds and making a drink taste like whatever you want?

Queen Mary turns and stares out the window, at the endless sea of pink clouds. "Oh. . . time for instance. Day, night. Life, death. Always passing, never ending. Here, such a thing is nonexistent."

"How does that even work? I mean, is time still passing back on Earth?" How long have I been here? It feels like only a few hours, but could it possibly have been a few years?

"No. For as long as you're here, time will not pass at all. Right now, you are living within the smallest fraction of a second. When you return to Earth, time will continue passing, and no one will notice any difference."

"So, everything I'm doing here is happening this fast?" I snap my fingers.

"Essentially, yes." Queen Mary nods her head.

This is just insane. I can't seem to get my head entirely around the "no time" concept. "So, I could stay here for a million years if I wanted to, and when I went back to Earth, it would still be the same second that I left from. And life would just go on like nothing ever happened."

Queen Mary chuckles. "Yes. But then nothing that needed to be done would get done, would it?" She pauses, staring out the window for a few seconds, then turns back to me. "Ninten, a great evil is descending upon the Earth; one that can only be stopped by a certain, great power."

"You mean, like a PSI power?"

"No, it is something even greater than PSI."

"What is it?"

"The answer lies within the song. The one that I cannot remember, and the one you are learning."

"That's another thing. How come _I'm_ the only one that can hear the melodies? I've heard three so far, and everyone around me never hears them."

"Why, because you have abilities that very few people have."

"Abilit_ies?_ But I can't do anything except move rather small things without touching them. How is that supposed to help me kill the greatest evil all by myself?"

Queen Mary looks at me in surprise. "Oh, nonsense! _Absolute_ nonsense! You were born with an exceptionally unique gift, but that is not _all_ there is to it! There will always be ways to learn and improve. And you will certainly not be by yourself, for the great power can never truly form by one soul alone."

"So, there _are_ others? How will I know who they are?"

"Trust yourself. You will know."

"But what about the whole _great power_ thing? What if I-"

Queen Mary holds a hand out in front of her. "You will discover that when the time is right. As for now, you are much too doubtful. Have courage in yourself and your abilities."

She turns and gazes out the window. "I suppose that now is the time for you to return to Earth, unless, of course, you wish to stay awhile for whatever reason."

I turn and gaze out at the expanse of pink clouds, the twisting mint-green river, and dainty seashell houses. "Will I ever come back here?" I ask, hoping she says yes.

"When you learn the song, of which there are eight melodies, you will return here and sing them for me, so that I can remember. If only I could once again sing that song. . ." Her expression as she stares outside shows a hint of despair or longing, as if she is staring out from the bars of a prison cell instead of the pristine glass window panes of an elaborate castle.

"Well, in that case, I guess I'll go back now." I say. "But. . . I still don't really understand everything."

Queen Mary turns to me. "It is all right if you don't understand everything now, for I don't remember everything that I must tell you." She turns back to the window wearing a thoughtful expression.

"But, you know what?" she says, not turning away. "Even if I did remember everything, I don't think I would tell you all of it."

"But, isn't the greatest evil taking over the world really bad. . . and urgent?"

"Well, yes, of course. And stopping it from happening is a very, very great achievement. All great achievements take time and effort. Tell me, If I told you everything you needed to know, and asked you destroy the greatest evil _right now_, would you feel ready to do so?"

I lower my eyes and look sideways out the window. No, I wouldn't feel ready at all.

Queen Mary doesn't need an answer. Gesturing for me to follow, she leads me over to the Flying Man who had brought the mug of tea.

"Now, remember what I _have_ told you, and return to me when you have learned the melodies. Are you ready to leave?"

"Yes. And thank you."

"It was my pleasure," she says, laying a hand on my shoulder. "And when this is all over, the thanks will be to you." She lifts her hand and gestures to the Flying Man. "He will send you out." Queen Mary steps away and watches as the Flying Man lays a large, golden-feathered hand on top of my head. There comes a brilliant flash of light and I shut my eyes. When I open them again, I'm no longer standing in the bright, elaborate throne room of Queen Mary's castle, and I'm no longer holding on to the cup of tea. Where I am now, it's nearly pitch black except for blue-flame torches lining frost covered brick walls. The air is cold and I shiver in my damp clothes, the small white clouds of my breath visible in the dim light. Hugging myself to keep warm, I look down at the solid ground, which is covered in a fine layer of frost as well. Where in the heck am I? This doesn't feel like Earth at all, and where on Earth do they still use dungeons with torches? _Blue_ torches? Unless I'd been sent back in time to the 1400s or something.

Glancing around the room, I spot an arched hallway and head for it, scanning the walls and corners uneasily, fully expecting to see shackles hanging or piles of bones. The hallway leads to a room nearly identical to the one I'd just been in, and another hallway leads out of it. This one connects to _another_ identical room, and when I finally go through the archway leading out of this one, I find myself in what appears to be the same room that I had started out in. My footprints are clearly visible on the frosty ground. Furrowing my eyebrows, I turn around and retrace my steps. Maybe there was a hallway I'd missed? No such luck. I still end up back at the beginning, where I let out a huff, perplexed. These medieval people sure know how to built their dungeons. No wonder there aren't any shackles on the walls; with this set up, they aren't necessary. Suddenly, a voice calls from behind me, and I turn around to see another Flying Man, which means that I'm probably not back on Earth yet.

"Where is this place?" I ask, my voice echoing through the cavernous rooms. "Am I still in Magi-"

He holds up a feathered hand to shush me. "Ergo non vigilaveris draconis."

"What?" I ask, and the Flying Man puts a finger to his ruby beak, signaling for me to be quiet. He strides past me into the room and stops in the far corner, kneeling down in front of the frost covered wall. As I approach, he begins to tug at a fairly large brick, which appears to have been purposefully loosened from the other bricks in the wall. After dragging the stone out and pushing it aside with astounding strength, the Flying Man gestures to the dark, narrow passageway that has now been revealed. It looks just big enough for me to crawl through.

"Terra." The Flying Man states.

I don't exactly know what that means, but I'm guessing that he's showing me a way out of here. Good. Even though it will be a tight squeeze, I'll do anything to get out of this dark, freezing dungeon, and back into the frying pan of Podunk.

I kneel down in front of the dark passageway and give a nod to the Flying Man. Then I climb into the confined space, shimmying my way through on elbows and knees. It's a good thing I'm not claustrophobic, however, it's getting kind of hard to breathe, what with the compact space and dank stench. I try to ignore the smell and just keep going, until a soft light becomes visible at the end of the tunnel, which opens up into a small room. A spiraled pink structure nearly identical to the one in Podunk stands in the center of the floor, bathing the walls in ethereal light.

Emerging from the passageway, I stride slowly towards the object and place a hand on it, anticipating what is to come. This time, no question enters my mind. However, the ground begins to tremble, and I squeeze my eyes shut, sinking down onto the floor, no- _into_ the floor. I feel like I'm spinning, then swaying, and then. . . nothing. . . as quiet darkness envelopes me once again.


	7. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

_Fanning my face with my pink felt hat, I gaze out of the smudgy train window. It had been a long and hot two weeks away at church camp, and we've been traveling all day. I try to imagine that the weak breeze being blown across my face by my hat is the chilly winter gusts of Snowman-ones that I won't feel for another ten hours._

Placing my hat back on my head, I shut my eyes and picture myself arriving home at dusk, strolling through peaceful fields blanketed with snow as cotton-like flakes swirl gently around me. The steeple and stained glass windows of the little church would be lit up angelically, as would my house upon reaching it. I would open the door to the delicious aroma of hot chocolate and gingerbread cookies wafting from the homey kitchen, where I would find my mother just taking them out of the oven, and my father sipping cocoa at the table with sheets of paper spread out in front of him as he began writing his next sermon. I-

_Suddenly, I feel a sharp tug on one of my pigtails, and my hat is whisked off of my head. I open my eyes and whip my head around to glare at Ralph, the ultimate trouble maker of our entire confirmation class. As big and pudgy as he is, with his mop of auburn hair and freckles, I find him to be a relatively nice boy. Though, most times, he couldn't be more immature. _

_He'd blown a huge pink bubble of gum, which pops, and he glances over at me, raising his eyebrows. I continue glaring. Normally, I have quite a bit of patience, and I hate having to be mean to anybody. But this kind of stuff has been going on all through church camp-pulling my hair, stealing my hat, my lunch box, etc. He is really starting to get on my last nerve._

"What's up?" he asks nonchalantly.

"You know." I state. He shrugs and shakes his head innocently.

"Ralph, give her the hat back." My friend, Monica, is roused from her doze beside me and acknowledges the situation.

"No can do, sister." He blows another bubble.

I hold my hand out over the back of the seat."Seriously, Ralph. Please give it back. My parents gave it to me-"

"I'm going to tell Mr. Gooding if you don't give it back." Monica breaks in. Mr. Gooding is the camp coordinator who had accompanied us on the trip.

"All right, jeez, I was just kidding and you know it." He lifts my hat out from behind the seat and hands it to me. I place it securely on my head.

Ralph turns away and nudges the boy next to him. "Dude, Nolan, did you see that last episode of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles? It really sucks that we had to go to camp, 'cause I wanted to see what happened. . ."

Seeing that he's lost interest in bothering me for the time being, I turn around and settle back into my seat.

"Ana, do you want to switch places with me?" Stacy, my other friend, asks from the booth opposite me and Monica's. She is sitting with her younger sister, Emily.

I nod my head. "Thanks, Stacy."

"No prob," she replies, and we change seats.

"Don't let him get to you, Ana." Monica says. "But don't take it too seriously either, he's just doing it because he likes you."

I glance up, baffled, and also a bit disgusted. "What? Ralph? No way."

Monica shrugs. "It's what my mom says. Boys tease you when they like you."

"But-"

I'm cut off as the train lurches, nearly throwing me out of the seat. I can feel the locomotive gradually slowing down, until it screeches to a stop. Everyone recovers and looks around, confused. After all, we definitely aren't in Snowman.

"Why are we stopping?" someone asks.

"What's going on?" says another.

"Oh my god, you guys." I can pick out Ralph's voice from among the others. "The train broke down. We're going to be stuck here forever, in the middle of nowhere, and die of starvation!" There is a smirk on his face as he looks out the window, and I can tell that he's being sarcastic. The other boys lightly punch and push him around.

"Shut up, Ralph, we're in Merrysville," one of them remarks. "We are not going to die of starvation."

"All right, kids!" Mr. Gooding's voice bellows out above all the others as he comes into view at the front of the aisle. "I need everyone to be quiet!"

Hushes emanate throughout the train coach as everyone directs their attention to the camp coordinator. He adjusts his horn-rimmed glasses and tugs at the collar of his shirt.

"There's been a minor landslide up ahead, and a few large boulders have fallen onto the train tracks, blocking the tunnel to Union Station. I'm afraid that we are all going to have remain here for the time being, until workers can figure out a way to remove them."

Murmurs of excitement and curiosity are issued from the other students, and Mr. Gooding continues his announcement.

"Now, I know it's hot, but I'm going to have to ask all of you to stay inside the train so we can ensure everyone's safety and attendance when we leave. Got it? No one goes outside."

Everyone lets out a groan and begins to complain, but Mr. Gooding turns his back and disappears through the door at the front of the coach.

"Jesus flipping Christ!" Ralph exclaims, turning around and putting his cheek to the window, trying to see in front of the train. "A landslide! I told you that we're going to be stuck here forever."

I shoot him a dirty look across the seats, and Monica turns around to face him. "Hey!" she yells. "Don't use the Lord's name in vain. You do know that we're coming back from church camp, right?"

"Yeah, seriously, dude." Nolan elbows him. "Don't say that. Especially not around Ana. She's the pastor's daughter, you know."

Ralph snorts at him incredulously."I know that, dumbass!"

I sigh, and start fanning my face with my hat again. I have a feeling that we are going to be here for at least a few more hours. My mind wanders back to what Monica had said. Ralph? Me? Ugh. I feel my stomach churn at the very idea. Well, obviously, he has no idea who he's even 'liking'. I'm not just the cute, innocent, church girl that he probably sees me as. I'm. . . different. Sure, I'm very kind to everyone, I read the Bible, play piano, and get good grades in school. . . but I can also shoot fire and ice from my hands, and read people's minds. I suppose that I could read Ralph's mind, to see if what Monica said is true, but I don't think I really want to know right now. My parents say it's all a gift from God, and that I shouldn't be ashamed of it. I so wish that I could agree with them. However, I say it's freakish, as would everyone else if they knew. I know that there are plenty of people in worse situations than mine, but I sometimes wonder, why, if I'm as faithful to God as I am, did He have to make me this way? Why can't I just be normal, like everyone else, and not have this huge secret to worry about? As much as I would like it to be, I have to say that my life is not all cookies and cocoa.

I feel my body being shook, but I just assume it's one of the side effects of leaving Magicant. I only open my eyes when a splash of lukewarm water hits my face, then the sound of men's voices fade in from somewhere above me. As my sight shifts into focus, I find myself staring up into the dirt-streaked faces of two men in worn, stained overalls bending down toward me. They both have a pair of safety goggles hanging from their necks, and one of them is holding an open water bottle. I squint at the label on the breast pocket of their overalls, which reads _Duncan Inc._ This name is unfamiliar. There isn't a _Duncan Inc._ anywhere in Podunk that I am aware of.

"WhereamI?" I mumble almost inaudibly, trying to sit up. As the wise lioness had promised, my backpack, baseball bat, and inhaler are back in my possession. I put a hand to my head, which is pounding, and I realize that I don't feel the cut which had been scabbed over not a second before. Running my fingers over my now-healed forehead, all I can think about is the tea that Queen Mary had given me. When she'd said that it would fix me right up, she'd meant it literally. God, even if the queen doesn't believe that that place is awesome, I surely do.

"He's all right." The men both stand up, and the one with the water screws the cap back onto the bottle. "Good heavens, kid, what're you doin' wandering around way out here? I just looked out the window, and there you were, lyin' down in the dirt!"

"You were unconscious." The second, tall, blond-haired one adds.

"Where am I?" I ask again. This time more clearly.

"Well, you're outside Duncan's Factory," The first worker states, gesturing to a large building situated dangerously near the sharp edge of the hill we are on. "in Merrysville. Where do you think you are, son?" Merrysville? That was at least an hour away from Podunk. Why have I been sent here?

"And, say, shouldn't you be in school?" The blond one questions.

I glance up at him, confused. "School? But it's summer."

"Oh, don't you be pullin' that crud with us, now. Just 'cause we look like we don't know nothin' doesn't mean we don't. I know right well that you ought to be in school." The first, burly man holds out a hand to help me to my feet, which I accept.

"But," I say, pulling myself up. "you don't understand. I'm not from here. I live in Podunk." The two factory workers step back and blink at me.

"Podunk? That's almost eighty-five miles from here!" the tall man exclaims, exchanging looks with the other man. "You know, I would normally just assume that you have family here that you're visiting, or are passing through. But this situation is a little too odd for that. "

"Yeah, and Union Tunnel's blocked off by that landslide, so you couldn't have come by train. . ." The other man is pensive as he scratches his stubbly chin.

"Um, can you tell me a way into town, please?" I say this mainly as an attempt to change the subject, because I don't want to have to think of a good enough lie to cover up how I got here. As if I could, or would actually tell them about Magicant.

He stops scratching, and glances at me. "Eh? Oh, my apologies if we're getting too nosy. I know how kids are about that 'stranger danger' stuff. I'd take ya into town myself, but I'm needed here. Just go down the hill 'till you see a road, follow it east, and you're there." I nod my head and say thanks. He turns around and uncaps the water bottle, takes a large swig, and starts striding back toward the factory. The other worker follows. I begin to walk away.

"Oh!" the burly man's voice shouts after me. "Do yourself a favor and don't come wanderin' around here again. This ain't a chocolate factory, kid."

"Got it!" I yell back, observing the factory building over my shoulder. A large metal sign with faded lettering that reads "DUNCAN INC. Since 1969" is situated at the top near two smoke stacks. Off to the side of the main building is a sort of large shed, or hangar, of which the metal doors are open and the horizontal nose of what looks like a rocket can be seen inside.

I follow the hillside until the rumble of construction vehicles becomes audible. I look farther ahead of me where a set of train tracks leads in from the west and ends before a pile of large boulders. A couple of bulldozers are positioned near them, and their drivers are standing outside, examining the rocks from a distance. This must be the landslide that the factory workers were talking about.

I walk into a more wooded area, which doesn't do much to block out the heat. At least my head is healed up and I don't have to worry about it bothering me anymore. The gash had been partly visible even with my baseball hat on, and thankfully now I won't receive any odd looks that either suspect I've been in some kind of trouble, or wonder if I need help.

Sure enough, I reach an asphalt road, dappled with sunlight streaming in through the tree branches above. The city noises of cars honking and rushing past one another can be heard in the distance, and I begin heading towards them. Merrysville is a bit larger than Podunk, and much more industrialized. It's one of those cities that is always striving to be bigger and better. Not that there is anything wrong with that. I've just never been a "big city" person myself. Kid's at school are always talking about how they wish they could go on vacation to Ellay, where skyscrapers rise up to their name, the glow of hundreds of neon signs eliminate darkness, and stores of every popular name are open nearly 24/7. The city never sleeps, and peace and quiet is what I would probably miss the most if I ever left Podunk to live there. I would miss lying in bed with my window open and seeing the stars; something I wouldn't be able to do in the big city because the lights drown them all out. And I would miss hearing the breeze blow through the branches of trees, and the crickets chirping into the dead of night; yet it would still be quiet enough to hear my thoughts, sorting through the things I did during the day, and anticipating the ones to come during the next. Bright and early in the morning, I'd bike out to the park with Matt and Jeremy and pitch some curveballs. I'm sure that there's some kind of park wedged in the midst of the concrete jungle of Ellay; a minute dot of green besides the diamond of the baseball stadium, with bleachers that rise up almost high enough to grant spectators a bird's eye view. But, of course, it wouldn't be the same. A stab of homesickness pervades through my body, but I quickly shrug it off and continue walking.

Finally, I stop at the edge of the tree line as the road continues into the town, feeling like I would be stepping into another dimension; the transition from grass and trees to pavement and buildings is so abrupt. I enter the bustling town and step onto the sidewalk, striding past buildings and trying to look as casual and confident as I can. At least I know what I'm supposed to do now, which is to find the melodies. Maybe I can look for a music store? Or maybe another bird would sing one? I lift my face up to the sky and catch sight of a few small and unidentifiable birds soaring high above me, nowhere near close enough for me to hear them.

I turn a corner and come to an area surrounded by a chain-link fence. There is a short expanse of green where a semi-deflated red kickball lies in the grass along with a well-worn foam football. Where the grass ends, a blacktop begins, with two yellow-painted foursquare courts and dozens of chalk drawings and games of hopscotch. The chains hanging from the tetherball poles clink against the rusting metal, the only movement and sound present in this area that had once been overrun by running and screaming schoolchildren.

As soon as I pass a pair of basketball hoops-one of which does not have a net-I notice a crumpled up piece of paper lying outside of two dark green dumpsters, which are situated up against the side of the school building. Striding over, I pick the paper up and smooth it out, revealing it to be a map of Merrysville and surrounding cities. I lean up against the brick building and examine the map, taking note of where Podunk is located. Sure enough, as Merrysville is placed in the center of the paper, my hometown occupies the lower left corner of the map, approximately eighty or so miles southwest of here. I shake my head in disbelief. Any thoughts of giving up and going home now are out of the question. I turn my head and look past the dumpsters, down the street, then do a double take. I find myself staring into two pink, almost violet, eyes that appear huge behind thick-lensed spectacles. The face is extremely pale, and snow-white hair covers the person's forehead, reaching down to their eyebrows.

I step back, a bit startled, and we blink at each other for a few seconds. I've heard of people with albinism before, but I've never actually seen one in person. Until now, that is.

"What are you doing out here?" the boy, who seems about my age, asks in a soft voice. "Did she send you out here to find me?"

"Did-wait, what?" I furrow my eyebrows in confusion.

"Mrs. Hessford. Did she send you out here to get me."

"Hold on. I don't know what you're talking about. I don't go here."

"Oh."

"What are you doing in a trash bin? How long have you been in there?"

"I'd say approximately two hours." He sighs. "It's a long story." He bends down out of sight for a few seconds, then comes back up with two home-made bottle rockets in hand. "Let's just say that I was on my way to Algebra, and-"

"_Algebra?_" I interrupt, incredulous. "What grade are you in?" There's no way he could be older than me.

"I'm almost twelve, in sixth grade. But I'm taking a few special classes so I can work at the actual level I'm at."

"Oh, I see." This kid is a year younger than me, and he's in Algebra. _I'm_ not even in Algebra yet.

"Anyway, the principal caught me with these," he gestures to the rockets, "and I ran and hid to avoid having to go to the office and hear her say that I was expelled." Opening the brown messenger bag that is slung across his shoulder, he places the rockets neatly inside. "It's not like I was going to use them to hurt anyone. They were to test out a machine that I invented."

"What's your name?" I ask, because he hasn't yet told me.

He glances up from buttoning the bag, and a look of bafflement crosses his face for an instant. "What?" He asks, a hint of surprise in his voice. "Sorry. Um, Lloyd. It's Lloyd." He looks down and finishes hooking the button closed, then proceeds to lift himself out of the dumpster.

"Need any help?" I offer.

"N-nope! I got it." He says in a strained voice, clumsily swinging himself over the edge of the bin and barely landing on his feet, staggering backward a few steps and then adjusting his glasses, which had fallen lopsided across his face. The red Polo T-shirt and khaki pants that he's wearing are stained in some places from the contents of the dumpster.

"Well, I'm Ninten. I actually live in Podunk, so I'm not in school again until summer's over. I'm guessing that you guys go year-round?" He nods. God, I know they get breaks and all, but I don't think I would like going to school all year. I very much enjoy having a long summer vacation.

"Hey, come with me. I need you to help me with the experiment." He turns around.

"What experiment? Why?" I ask, staying where I am.

"The one that I was planning on doing with the rockets." He walks to the corner of the building, and peers around it. "There needs to be two people for a few of the steps."

"But, why me? Can't you just partner up with someone who's actually in your class?"

"This is my only chance. The lights in the science lab haven't been working for a few days, and the maintenance people are coming to fix them after school today. For now, no one's in there, so we most likely won't get caught."

"But that doesn't answer my question."

He ignores me and turns around the corner, out of sight. After a few moment's hesitation, I follow. When I catch up, we both creep against the side of the building, ducking low under the windows, even when all of the blinds are closed. Reaching a wing of the school that juts out from the main building, Lloyd approaches an open window and pushes his bag through before clumsily climbing in after it. I stop outside the window.

"Come on," Lloyd whispers from inside. "You're more likely to be seen out there than you are in here." I huff, and slip off my backpack, handing it to him. Then, I reluctantly lift myself onto the windowsill and squeeze inside. The lights are off, of course, because Lloyd had said that they aren't working. The only light in the room is provided by the sun streaming in through the windows, and also from the narrow rectangle of glass in the door connected to the hallway. The light reflects off of stacks of safety goggles and rows of graduated cylinders set side by side on a central table. Lloyd has already grabbed two pairs of goggles and made his way to an opposite corner of the lab, where he waits beside a table supporting a large object concealed by a beige tarp. I locate my backpack, which is on the floor up against some cabinets, then head over to the table.  
He hands me a pair of safety goggles, then fits his own pair over his spectacles.

"Ready?" He asks, his pale violet-pink eyes are wide as he blinks up at me.

I put on my goggles and shrug. "I guess so. . ."

He whips the tarp off of the object, revealing a clearly makeshift, yet complicated-looking mechanism. I stare at it, and he watches me stare at it. After a few seconds, I look over at him and ask, "Well, aren't you going to say something?"

A confused look crosses his face. ". . .What do want me to say?"

"I don't know. Usually they say something like: 'Voilà! I call this the. . .'" I gesture with my hand towards him.

"Oh. Well, I haven't thought of a name for it yet. But this is only a prototype. I have yet to make improvements and additions." He starts to unbutton his messenger bag.

"What's it do?" I ask, examining the jumble of wires connected to a glass cylinder set above a large glass case.

"It's a replicator. Anything you put into this cylinder will be scanned and copied, and then multiple objects will appear in this case down below. But it only works on inanimate objects. It's different than a cloning device because the molecules of a. . ." He went on to explain the entire processes of cloning versus _this_ machine, and I just sort of spaced out. At parts, it didn't even sound like he was speaking English.

". . . All right, anyway, we're wasting time," he says, after what must have been five minutes, and I bring myself back to the present. Lloyd pulls the bottle rockets out of his bag and sets them on the table.

"Um, what do you need the rockets for, exactly?" I ask.

"They are the items I'm going to replicate. We only need one, but I brought an extra in case it fails and we want to test it again."

"Do you really have to test it with something so dangerous?"

"For now, yes. Until I figure out another way to gather the required amount of energy." He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a box of matches.

"So, you're actually going to, um, _light_ the fireworks? In the room?" I picture one going off and blasting through the ceiling, causing dust and fragments from the ceiling tiles to rain down on us. We'd definitely get caught and sent to juvenile hall or something. And as soon as my mom found out, she'd _kill_ me.

"Yes, but see, the bottle rocket goes in here," He lifts a lid off of the glass cylinder, and places a bottle rocket inside, securing wires onto various places, including the fuse. "I'm going to light the fuse and put the lid back on. The lid has holes so the fire can get oxygen. There will be just enough time for the energy from the spark to travel through this wire before the fire is extinguished by the water on the bottom half of the fuse."

He removes a water bottle from his messenger bag and dabs the bottom of the fuse with the liquid until it is completely saturated. "Okay, now plug this in." Lloyd hands me an outlet plug-in, which I insert into an outlet on the wall. "As soon as I light the fuse, put the lid back on and secure it." He takes out a match, and holds poised above the box. "You ready?"

I'm about to say "I guess so" again, when he strikes the match across the box and lowers it into the cylinder. The fuse sparks and he quickly pulls his hand away, blowing out the match. I throw the lid back on, making sure it's secure. I feel my heart pounding in my chest as thoughts of all possible bad outcomes flash through my mind.

"So far so good. . . So far so good. . .," Lloyd murmurs, intensely eying the spark as it reaches the clip connected to the wire. The spark then continues down its path. When it reaches the wet part, it burns on. Noticing this, Lloyd's eyes widen. "Oh no," he says, the dread obvious in his voice. My stomach drops.

"What?" I demand. "_What?!_" I don't care that I'm yelling, I just need to know what's going on.

"I-I don't understand. . . it should be stopping!. . ." Suddenly, a look of utter fear and dread takes over Lloyd's pale face as he snatches the match box and spare rocket. "Go, go, go, GO, _GO!_" he yells, and pushes me toward the window. We're halfway there when the replicator explodes, and I instinctively duck down to the floor, pulling Lloyd down with me. A shower of glass rains down around us, but not a single shard comes into contact with either of our bodies. I open my eyes, which had been shut as tight as possible, and look up at the transparent dome above our heads, watching as soft green ripples dance across the surface from the water shower of the sprinkler system.

"H-holy Isaac Newton. . . How are you doing that?!" Lloyd exclaims, glancing wide-eyed from the shield to me.

"I don't know, but let's get the hell out of here!" I yell over the fire alarm, getting to my feet and pulling Lloyd up. The shield disappears and the foul odor of sulphur lingers in the air as we scramble to the window, broken glass crunching under our shoes. Lloyd shoves his bag through the window, and I do the same. We are out of there faster than you can say "juvenile hall."

We grab our bags and book it around the corner, past the dumpsters, and down the street. The other school students are gathered outside in the parking lot next to the recess area, while teachers run around, trying to get them all under control and make sure that no one's missing.

"Hey, it's that freak, Leroy!" someone shouts as we pass. "And who's that loser with him?"

"Dunno," a girl's voice responds. "But he reminds me of a noodlenoggin."

Ignoring them, we keep running until we reach the tree line that I first entered town from. Then we run deep into the forest, away from town, and away from the road. After deciding that we are far enough away, our paces slow, and we stop next to some trees, slumping down against the trunk of one and taking time to catch our breaths. I feel about ready to have an asthma attack, partly from shock, and partly from running. Realizing that I'm still wearing the safety goggles, I take them off and place them into my backpack. Lloyd does the same. Sirens begin blaring in the distance. Hearing them, and knowing that I am part of the reason that they are blaring makes me want to throw up. We shouldn't have run away. Now the police are going to be after me just like they're after criminals on all of those cop T.V. shows. Turning myself in would've been the right thing to do, but then I would've been sent home for sure, and there's no way I would get another chance to find the melodies. To go back and confess, or to run away. Both decisions had their costs.

"Okay. . . You need to explain to me right now how you did that-that. . . whatever it was!" Lloyd exclaims and stands up. I remain seated.

"Aren't you worried about what's happening back there?" I jerk my thumb backward. "So much for not getting caught!"

"It was only an accident. A minor malfunction is all." Lloyd appears to be calm, though his voice has dropped volume significantly since his last statement, and his eyes are downcast.

"A _minor malfunction?_ You blew up a _lab_, Lloyd!"

"Ah." he raises his voice back to normal and looks up. "The _result_ of the malfunction was significant. However, the malfunction _itself_ was small."

"What?" I feel like my brain isn't working, like I can't process information at all. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to relax. "Okay, look, what even happened? What made it explode?"

Lloyd sits back down. "Well, since the bottle rocket was secured to the replicator, it couldn't launch, so it exploded in place. However, I don't understand why the fuse kept burning when it was soaked in water." He stares past me, off into space for a few seconds before looking down and unbuttoning his bag, bringing out the water bottle. He studies it for a few moments, then unscrews the cap and pours a little onto his index finger, which he then touches to his tongue. His face immediately contorts into an expression of disgust.

"Hydrogen peroxide," he states. "I can't believe it."

"Why is there hydrogen peroxide in a water bottle?" I ask.

"I don't know. Probably because my foster parents are ignoramuses. Imagine if someone would've drank and swallowed this. A mouthful would be enough to make a person very sick!"

"You live in a foster home?"

"Yes." Lloyd screws the cap back on the bottle and puts it into his bag.

"Sorry, I don't mean to-"

"It was a car accident. That killed them. My _real_ parents." He looks up at me solemnly and I shift my gaze downward. A few seconds of awkward silence pass before Lloyd speaks up.

"So, now _you_ have to answer _my_ questions." Keeping his gaze fixed on me, he raises an arm and points toward the town. "Back there. How did you do that?"

I stare at a point in space ahead of me, take a deep breath, and puff out my cheeks as I let it out. I wonder how I should lead into this, but decide that I might as well just get straight to the point. "Have you ever heard the term 'PSI'?" I glance over at him.

His eyes shift quickly to the side, then back to me. "You mean like what B. P. Wiesner and Robert H. Thouless proposed about extrasensory perception and-"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," I interrupt.

"So. . . You're saying it was some kind of psychic barrier." He studies me for a second. "But that goes against all laws of-"

"Look." I scan the ground and locate a few acorns that had fallen out of the tree. With my arm slightly extended, I focus on them. This will be the first time that I'll ever show my "gift" to anyone outside of my family. However, I felt a bit more comfortable in this situation. After all, we are both "freaks." Lloyd had said that everyone calls him that, and I'd heard a kid say it when we were running away. They hadn't even said his name right, calling him _Leroy_ or something like that.

At last, the acorns rise into the air, hovering a foot or so above the ground. Lloyd watches in awe.

"Impossible. . .," he mumbles under his breath. I drop the acorns and look over at Lloyd's stunned face.

"You know," he says, "I would say that that right there goes against all the laws of physics, but those laws have now been proven wrong. That," he looks up at me. "is awesome."

"Really? You don't think its freakish?"

"No! Believe me, I _know_ freakish. Just look at me."

"Does everyone at school _really_ call you that?" I ask.

He appears thoughtful for a moment. "Well. . . not _everyone_, I guess. Not _directly_. But I can see it in their eyes. Most of them just look at me weird, but some of them are really mean. I just try and ignore them, and manage to get through the day."

"I don't think you should give a crap at all how they look at you or what they call you. Just because you look different, that makes you a freak? Maybe _you're_ the normal one, and _they_ are all freaks. I mean, face it, Lloyd. You're a genius. You know how to build. . . _replicators_ and stuff-"

"It was a failure," he says.

"So what if it was a failure! It wasn't even the machine that failed! It was just because hydrogen peroxide happened to be in that bottle instead of water. You can probably build it again, right?" I glance in his direction.

"I still have the blueprints. . . So, I guess I could."

"See? Now, don't let all of those jerks back there stop you from becoming a famous inventor or something. Especially if they succeed in doing so by making fun of the way you look."

There's a few beats of silence before either of us speaks again.

"Thanks." Lloyd says, lifting his gaze from the ground. "No one's ever actually said that kind of stuff to me. . . Not even my foster parents."

"No problem." I respond. "We freaks help each other out." I slap him on the shoulder, earning a smile from him.

"Yeah," he says. "Now it's _your_ turn. _You_ have powers. And I think the majority of the population would find that awesome rather than freaky and scary, because I sure do." He stands up and walks a small ways ahead. "Now, I'm not saying you should go stand in the middle of the interstate and show off your Jedi stunts or anything. But at some point in their lives, everyone wishes that they could be a super hero. And, well. . . you _can_ be one."

Me. A super hero. Now, I can't really imagine that. But nonetheless, I feel a little more confident in myself and my abilities knowing that someone, whom I barely know, doesn't think it's freakish.

"Can you do the shield thing again?" Lloyd asks.

"I can try, I guess. I only recently found out that I could do it." Gosh, I can't believe that the Starman incident was only this morning. So much has happened since then. I close my eyes and put my arms in front of me, imagining a barrier spreading out in front of them. I feel my energy building, but nothing happens. It's like there has to be danger present in order for it to work.

"Lloyd, throw a rock at me or something." I say, opening my eyes.

"What? Why?"

"Just do it."

"Okay. . ." He searches the ground around some nearby trees, and comes around the trunk of one with a small stone in hand. "Got one," he says, holding it up for me to see.

"All right, now count to twenty, and then throw it." I focus again, imagining a giant boulder rolling in my direction, and there's no way to stop it except-"Ow!" I cry out as the stone hits me in the side.

"Sorrysorrysorrysorry!" Lloyd apologizes profusely.

"It's okay, I'm all right! Throw it again."

"No!"

"Yes, please. I have to learn this." I throw the rock back to him. He grabs for it, but misses.

"Are you sure?" he asks, bending down and picking the rock up.

"Yep. Try counting to thirty this time." I focus, and imagine the boulder rolling towards me again, but this time, it's not only me who's in danger of being crushed. My mom and dad are behind me, and so are my sisters, as well as my dog, Mick. I feel the energy building. It would be all my fault if they were crushed by the boulder. I couldn't let that happen. To get to them, it had to go through me first. And-"

"Ninten! Ninten, you did it!" Lloyd's voice sounds far away and a bit muffled. I open my eyes and he's standing four feet in front of me with an excited look on his face. He slaps the invisible dome, causing green ripples to radiate outward. I feel a grin spread involuntarily across my face as I watch the ripples fade away. After ten seconds, I lose concentration and the shield disappears.

"Holy Isaac Newton, that was awesome!" Lloyd exclaims. Then suddenly he jumps toward the tree, and points through the forest in the direction of the road. Even though we are far away, the form of a police vehicle can still be seen driving down the road, away from town. It's lights are off, but it's likely patrolling the area-looking for us.

"I'd estimate that now would be a good time to get out of here," Lloyd states.

"Where are we supposed to go?"

"Out of town would be best. We'll take the train. Unless you're here with family or something. _That_ would surely set us in a bit of a predicament. As for me, my foster parents couldn't care less what I do."

"We can't take the train. The landslide blocked the tracks."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot about that. Well, maybe they've cleared them by now. Otherwise we'll have to figure something else out. So, you're all the way out here by yourself?"

"It's long story, and it'll sound stupid, too. . . You'll think I'm crazy," I say. I really don't want to have to tell Lloyd the entire story of what's happened so far, or why I'm here. Half the stuff, _I_ don't even know. He'd handled the PSI thing extremely well, but if I told him everything else, _especially_ Magicant, he'd resolve that I am one heck of a nutcase.

"It can't be that bad. After seeing what I just saw. . . No offense, but I don't think it can get much weirder than that. It's not like you're an _alien_ or anything," he jokes.

I hesitate, looking away. "Well, no, I'm not. But. . ."

"But what?" Lloyd turns serious.

"They're out to kill me. Aliens, I mean."

"So, uh, what about mind-reading? Can you read peoples minds? Or levitating. Can you do that?" Lloyd asks as he strolls along next to me. He's asked if I can do just about every kind of super power imaginable. From turning invisible, super-strength, and shape-shifting, to, just now, mind-reading and levitating. I stopped answering a while ago, but apparently Lloyd hasn't noticed.

I told him the whole story; everything from Grandpa's diary, the poltergeists, and Pippi, to the Starman, Queen Mary, and the melodies. He'd listened patiently the entire time, and when I was finished, he was silent for a while. But then he'd said that he didn't care how crazy it was, and that he was coming with me to help fight the "greatest evil." He said that it would be his chance to prove to the kids at school that he wasn't a weakling.

He'd made a comment about the poltergeists, saying that the town of Spookane claims to have events like that happen regularly. According to Lloyd, it is marked as one of the most haunted towns in America. This information didn't exactly cause a light bulb to turn on in my head, because I doubt that the poltergeists I'd described have anything to do with ghosts or hauntings, but I decided to let it slide. It was a start, at least, on figuring out where to go next.

So, now, we are walking in the direction of Duncan's Factory, where we can check if the landslide's been cleared. If so, we'll walk to Union Station, get tickets, and ride to Spookane.

"Hmm. . . Time travel! Can you-" Lloyd begins to ask his thirty-seventh super power question.

"No, Lloyd! I cannot travel through time. That's not even possible."

"Wrong! I _built_ a time machine once."

I stop in my tracks and stare at him incredulously. "You what?"

He stops and turns around to face me. "I didn't test it out or anything, I just built it."

"How come you didn't test it?"

"I was going to, but then I wondered if it was truly worth it. I made it because I wanted to go back to the day my parents died, and make it so that they didn't. I couldn't see much harm in doing that, but inside, I knew it would be wrong, and selfish. Not only that, but surely one day the news would get out about the machine, and then scientists everywhere would be building them. Imagine if everyone had the power to time travel. The world would be chaos. No lessons would be learned, because mistakes could always be erased. There would be no such thing as history, or past, present, and future. Life wouldn't be. . . well, life. So I destroyed it. And burned the blueprints."

I'm a bit shocked at those last statements, but I don't say anything, because I know he's right about everything else.

We continue walking, this time in silence, and I think about the things he said. I feel sad for Lloyd about his parents. It must have been extremely difficult to destroy the one thing that could change his past, and make it so that the accident never happened. It takes an unselfish mind and a courageous heart to do that. Suddenly, I can't believe how all of the bullies back at the school can call Lloyd a _weakling_, when he just may be the strongest of them all.

Finally, the trees clear out, and Duncan's Factory can be seen farther up the hill. We stride over to the cliffside, and gaze down at the train tracks leading into the tunnel, which is still blocked off. A pile of dirt lies off to the side, ant that seems to be the only progress anyone's gotten at clearing the path. The boulders appear as if they haven't budged at all.

"They haven't cleared the tracks yet." Lloyd points out the obvious.

"What are we supposed to do then? Wait?" I ask.

Lloyd appears thoughtful as he studies the boulders, and then glances up to Duncan's Factory, where the nose of the rocket can still be seen clearly between the doors of the hangar.

"Lloyd?"

"Still got those safety goggles?" He asks.

"Yeah. . ."

"Good. 'Cause you're gonna need 'em."


	8. Chapters 11-12

Chapter 11

"Lloyd, you're insane. You may be smart, but you are also insane. I am _not_ going to help you blow up that boulder with a rocket. We're in enough trouble already. How bout we just take a bus instead?" I blurt out random statements and suggestions to try and drag Lloyd away from the crazy idea of blowing up the boulders to clear the train tracks. Nothing seems to be working.

"Okay, now I'm wondering who's the real wimp. Me or you," he says. "And we can't take a bus, because that would mean that we would have to go back into town. The train station is farther north, kind of in the middle of nowhere. It'll be faster too."

I shut my eyes, not believing he's actually considering doing this. No, he's not _considering_. He's absolutely one-hundred-percent sure about blowing up those rocks with the rocket in Duncan's Factory. The bottle rocket experiment in the science lab was one thing, but this is entirely different. I'm not a wimp for being scared for my life. "Look, we aren't even supposed to be over here. The workers told me to stay away-"

"You mean him?" Lloyd points to a burly man walking toward us from the direction of the factory. I recognize him as one of the workers who had found me after I'd returned from Magicant. It may just be my worry, disbelief, and dread all muddled together, but he doesn't look too pleased to see me.

"Hey, kid! What you doin' here? I told you this _ain't_ a chocolate factory!" The worker yells at me as soon as he approaches. He glances over at Lloyd. "Oh, come on, you brought a friend too?"

"No-I'm sorry, it's just-" I stammer, and Lloyd comes to my rescue.

"Let me explain. I'm working on a science project that focuses on military projectiles, and this is the best place to do research, as well as experience firsthand the making and assemblage of projectile parts." He gestures to me. "He's helping."

The man is silent for a while before bending down to Lloyd's level and studying his pale face. He squints through the glare of sunlight reflecting off of the lenses of Lloyd's spectacles for a few moments, then stands back up, raising his eyebrows and blinking his eyes as if he'd just come out of a daydream. I'm guessing that he's never seen anyone quite like Lloyd before.

"Hold on," he addresses me. "I thought you said that you were from Podunk. How come you're helping him with a project if you don't even attend school here?" I gulp. We're toast. "Because he's my friend who came to visit, and we don't get to see each other very often since we don't live close. He's just coming along and helping a bit while I do my research because that's a lot better than sitting in a hotel waiting for me to finish," Lloyd explains. It suddenly strikes me that, unlike me, Lloyd is an exceptionally good lier. "So, do you mind if we make a few observations?"

The man wipes sweat from his forehead, and looks out over the hill. "Well. . . I shouldn't, but if it's just you two, then I guess I don't see much harm in it. Make it _real_ quick though."

"Thank you! I'm gonna ace this project!" Lloyd exclaims, then elbows me in the side as soon as the worker turns around. We follow him up the hill until we are standing outside the main factory entrance.

"Look's like they're givin' up on that landslide. At least for now," the worker says as we turn around to watch the construction vehicles back away from the site and drive off slowly. "That train's gonna be late as hell." He shakes his head and glances down at us. "All right. I'm gonna go get Thomas, since he's the expert on what goes on in there." He gestures with his head to the hangar. "Just wait right here, and I'll be back in a few." Wiping sweat from his brow with his tanned forearm, he disappears through the factory door.

I glance at Lloyd out of the corner of my eye. He's scanning the tiny windows of the factory building, checking for any people who might be watching. Satisfied, he grabs my arm and pulls me toward the hangar. "Come on. We don't have much time," he whispers, even though there's no one around within earshot.

I resist, leaning the other way and digging my heels into the dry, stony ground. "No. There's gotta be another way."

Lloyd tugs harder on my arm. "This is the only way, unless you want to wait until who-knows-when for them to clear the tracks, or _walk_ all the way to Spookane. The fate of the world's at stake, right?"

I pull back with all my weight and he drops my arm. "Remember what happened in the lab?" I ask. "Just imagine what_this_ could do."

"Well, yeah. But this is an entirely different matter. We aren't trying to replicate anything this time, we're just going to launch the missile at the boulders. It'll blow them up, and all that anyone would need to do is clear the debris."

I roll my eyes up toward the sky and bite the inside of my cheek. Neither of us says anything. Finally, Lloyd glances toward the factory and sighs impatiently. "Look, do want get out of this town, or would you rather stick around and get a lame-o tour of Duncan's Factory?"

After a few seconds, I turn my gaze back to him, speaking quietly through gritted teeth. "Lloyd. You had better know what you're doing. 'Cause if this fails. . ."

"It won't. Now come on, we're wasting time just standing here." He reaches out, and I let him drag me into the hangar. Inside, the rocket is set horizontally, it's nose pointing outside. It is small; definitely not as small as a bottle rocket, but nowhere near as large as a real space rocket. The tin walls of the hangar are lined with posters, blueprints, and maps, as well as hooks with tools hanging from them. Dusty work tables are set up against the walls with more tools, paper, and scrap metal. The foul odor of sulphur mixed with used fireworks fills my nostrils and I wrinkle my nose, covering it with both hands. Lloyd seems unfazed.

"Wait, did you say that this is a missile? Like a real war missile? I thought it was one of those model rocket things," I say with my hands still covering my mouth and nose.

"Yep. It looks like one of those rockets, but I know it isn't. Duncan's is one of the leading industries for military artillery and weapons and such. That's why it's fairly isolated from town, and no one's allowed on the property unless given the O.K. by a worker and is supervised."

I nod my head, still hearing his voice, but my mind had gone some place else. I'd taken my hands away from my face, and am staring up at the decorated walls; at the photographs specifically. There is one of a mustached man standing in front of what appears to be a newly established Duncan's Factory. In neat cursive on the lower right-hand corner, someone had written: "Goldrich Duncan, 1969."

There are pictures of the first missile created here, yearly photos of the entire work team outside the factory, and quite a few news articles and pictures of an accidental explosion in 1973 that blew up half of the factory building and caused the supporting section of land to collapse. That's probably why the remaining building seems like it was built right on the cliff edge.

"Earth to Ninten!" Lloyd's hand waves in front of my face, and I blink back to the present. "Come on, those workers will be back any minute, and I thought you were the one that's so concerned about us getting caught."

"Okay, okay! Well, what do want me to do?"

"There's a control panel up there," Lloyd gestures to a staircase I hadn't noticed before leading up to a small room with cloudy windows. "and I'm going to launch the missile from there. You don't really have to do anything, just stand outside the hangar, and if the worker guy comes back, then find some way to distract him. Make sure that you're far enough away from here, because this hangar will be totally smoked out. . . or possibly worse." He puts on his safety goggles.

"Well, what about you?" I ask.

"There's an emergency staircase outside the control room, and I'll just use that."

"Okay. . . and there seriously better not be another malfunction or something, like in the lab."

"There won't be, I assure you. And after this, we'll be off to Spookane in no time! Now hurry up and get out there, so we can get this over with." He turns around and runs up the staircase to the small control room. I leave the hangar and walk back to the outside of the main building. Faint mechanical humming noises can be heard as the missile is being aimed at the rocks, and I stare out towards the boulders, preparing for them to explode at any second right before my eyes. After a minute, I whip around, startled, when a voice comes from behind me.

"Hey, there ye are kid! Turn's out that Thomas is a bit too busy to help you out right now. I tried to. . . Wait. Where'd the other one go?" The worker glances around confused.

"Oh! Uh, he had to go to the bathroom, so I told him to go find a bush or tree or something-"

"No, shh! What's that noise?" I assume that he's hearing the humming from the hangar, and I know I need to act fast. "What are you kid's up to?" he asks in annoyance and begins striding toward the hangar.

"No! Stop!" I reach out and grab his arm, then step in front of him. "He, uh, he told me to ask about the history of the factory if you came back before he did!"

The worker pushes past me, and keeps walking. "There's somethin' goin' on, I just know it."

"Please, wait!" I yell, and after a moment of heart-pounding hesitation, I run after him. Just then, the missile comes shooting out of the open hangar, followed by clouds of dust that envelope me and the factory worker. I suddenly can't breathe. I hear a loud, crackling explosion somewhere in the distance, but I don't give it any thought. My eyes sting with the dust that had gotten into them and I run around blindly, trying to escape suffocation. I feel my asthma kicking in as I start to choke and cough. I try to yell, but nothing comes out, and soon, my feet no longer come into contact with solid, level ground. I trip and feel a sharp pain shoot up and down my right arm upon landing, then I begin tumbling down the cliffside. At the bottom, my lungs are screaming for air, but no matter how hard I try, I can't bring any in. Now, I do something that I've done twice already when I had traveled to and from Magicant, although this time, it feels entirely different. No trippy sensations at all. I black out.

Chapter 12

I open my eyes to a world of white, yet my vision is blurry and I can't make out any shapes. I blink slowly a few times, thinking only about the pounding in my head and the dryness of my throat. I cough hoarsely, and a figure appears over me. My vision soon clears, and I can tell that it is a woman, dressed in turquoise scrub clothing with her platinum-blond hair pulled back in a ponytail.

"Well, you're coming around at last," she says with friendly enthusiasm. "How are you feeling?"

_Like crap,_ I think to myself. My throat seems too dry to force any words out.

"Would you like some water?" The woman asks, as if she'd read my mind. I do my best to nod, and she quickly fills a flower-printed paper cup with lukewarm water from a sink across the room and brings it over to me. "You may call me Catherine," she says, and then I begin to tell her my name. Except, I think better, and introduce myself as "Michael." I grab the water cup with my left hand, just now realizing that my right arm is encased in a bulky plaster cast. I'm lying in a bed with thin starched sheets, and from what I've gathered so far, I can safely assume that this is a hospital room. Where? I have no idea. All of my memories up until now are a huge jumble of mush that makes no sense at all.

"It's good to see you awake, finally. You're in the Merrysville hospital, and you know there's been an accident?" The nurse says as she takes the cup away when I'd finished off the water. Suddenly, I remember flashes of the factory, the missile, the dust clouds, Lloyd, and tumbling down the cliffside. Everything until I blacked out. Where is Lloyd now? And the worker guy? Did he get hurt too?

"Mhm," is all I can manage to mumble as an answer to her question.

"You're lucky to be alive."

I clear my throat. "What about the others?"

"You mean Mr. Hanson? The factory worker? He's in the next room. He didn't suffer any injuries nearly as bad as yours, but we're keeping him here for a while longer just to be sure everything's okay."

All right. That was good news. But what about _Lloyd?_ Doesn't she know anything about _him?_ I get this sick feeling in my stomach, suspecting that something really bad happened to him. After all, he was actually _inside_ the hangar when the missile launched. God, please don't let him be-

Suddenly, there's a soft rap on the door, and a slender African-American woman, who also appears to be a nurse, pokes her head into the room. "Excuse me, but is this young man accepting visitors? There's someone out here wanting to see him."

"Oh, thanks Rebecca, but he's just woken up," Catherine replies. "I think we should give him some time before. . ."

Her voice fades out as I begin thinking about who could be waiting to visit me. My mom? Please no. As much as I'd like to see her, this is not the time or place for a reunion. I know now that this alien and melody stuff is true, serious business. And after this incident-launching a _military missile_ at a boulder-it's not going to be long before I start seeing wanted papers hanging up around town with my face sketched right on the front.

From the doorway, a small pale face peeks out from behind the nurse. It's Lloyd. I sigh in relief, glad that he's okay. How had he managed to escape the scene so easily?

Lloyd squeezes past the nurse, dodging her hand as she attempts to grab him and pull him back. He scurries over to the bedside, wearing a huge, glowing smile as if he'd just won the lottery or something.

"Excuse me. . . um," Catherine walks over and places a hand on Lloyd's shoulder. "I understand that you would like to visit now, but we still have to contact his parents-"

"Please, I'm his friend, and it's important. Just give us five minutes, okay?" Lloyd pleads to the nurse.

"Did you come here alone? Isn't an adult with you?" she asks Lloyd, then glances over to Rebecca, who just shrugs her shoulders and mouths the words: _I don't know._

"Hey, it's okay. I'm fine." I try to push myself upright with my good arm. The nurses turn to look at me.

"Are you sure?" Catherine looks skeptical.

"Yeah. I'd like to talk to him for a few minutes."

"Well, okay then. We'll be outside, and just call if you need anything." Catherine grabs her clipboard from a chair set against the wall, then leaves the room with the other nurse, shutting the door behind her.

"Guess _what?_" Lloyd whispers excitedly, struggling to contain himself. "It _worked!_ It actually _worked!_ The missile aim was spot on and everything!"

I raise my eyebrows and my eyes widen just a bit. I have to admit that I'm a bit surprised that Lloyd's plan was a success. I mean, besides me having to go to the hospital and all.

"I got out of there as fast as I could, and hid in some bushes a safe distance away from the factory. When they heard the explosion, all the workers came rushing outside, trying to figure out what happened. The dust hadn't cleared all the way, so it was difficult to see anything, but I was keeping an eye out for you."

"Did the cops ever find you?" I ask.

"No. And any evidence that a person had ever been in there is totally wiped out now. No footprints in the dust, no fingerprints, nothing. But anyway, when I saw the paramedics take you and that worker guy away in the ambulances, I got so freaked out! . . . What even happened, anyway?"

I puff out a breath and lay my head back on the pillow. "When the missile went off, the dust clouds took up all the air and I couldn't see anything. I had an asthma attack, and I fell down the cliff and blacked out."

"Oh. I didn't know you had asthma. . ." Lloyd's face is grave.

"Well, jeez, Lloyd! That doesn't even matter! You think _anyone_ would be able to breathe in that stuff?"

"_No!_ But I also told you to stay far away from the hangar so something like that wouldn't happen!"

"I _did_ go far away! But when the worker came back, I _tried_ to distract him, and he immediately suspected that we were up to something. He was heading to the hangar and I ran after him to try and stop him. Then the missile went off."

Lloyd huffs and goes to sit in a chair next to the window. He looks out of it sideways, the pale morning sunlight reflecting off his glasses and illuminating one side of his face, making it even whiter. We stayed quiet for a minute. We hadn't quite been yelling, but I think we both knew that if the argument had continued, the nurses would hear and come to end the visiting hour. That wouldn't help us one bit. We need time to talk and sort through this mess.

"How long was I out? I mean, I don't remember anything that happened after I fell," I say quietly. Lloyd turns from the window, but I can't read his expression because his eyes are hidden by the reflections on his spectacle lenses.

"It's nine o'clock in the morning. You were asleep the entire rest of yesterday, and all through the night."

"Wow," I whisper. Really? It had seemed like only a second ago I was tumbling down that cliff, and then the second passed, and I found myself lying in this hospital bed with my arm enclosed in a cast. "Where did you sleep?"

"Well, I didn't really sleep much, figuring that I would on the train because it's about a fourteen hour trip. I just kept my distance from the factory and watched them clear the debris from the train tracks. They had to do a few minor repairs, but that was it! That train flew through the tunnel as if it had never stopped!" He pauses for a moment, looking at the tile floor. "I considered calling the hospital, to see if you were okay, but I decided that I would just visit in the morning."

It may just be the sun, shining on his face and glasses at odd angles, but he looks slightly guilty. I am actually quite relieved he didn't call the hospital, because he probably would've used my real name, and I told the nurse that my name was Michael. I don't know why, but I just thought it may be best to hide my identity in case my mom somehow found out where I was and made contact, or something. I feel weird to be _hiding_ from my parents, but in situations like this, I feel that the _real_ me should stay hidden.

"Thank you for not calling, Lloyd," I say, and he glances up at me, somewhat confused. "As long as we're in here, my name is Michael, okay?"

His face remains blank, but then he understands. He makes a failed attempt to wink, then whispers, "Okay, Michael."

Outside, I hear the hollow sound of a train whistle from somewhere in the distance. Lloyd hears it too, because he says, "There goes the nine-o-five train." Then he perks up, as if remembering something really important. "Oh yeah! I checked the train schedules last night and there's only two that leave for Spookane today. The one that just left, and another one at six. I figured that if we didn't want to wait that long, we could board the one for Snowman at noon, which would put us in the town around nine-thirty or ten at night. Then we could leave for Spookane from there."

"You know, they'll never let me out of here without first contacting my parents, so this whole plan is pretty messed up."

"Sure they will! It's self-discharge. Just leave on your own. It's not like they can track you down and force you to stay here."

"Yeah, and how am I supposed to do _that_ within a few hours?"

"Tell them you have to go to bathroom or something, then leave through the back door. It's simple, really." Lloyd stands up and walks to the side of the bed.

"You think a lot of things are simple, Lloyd. And they never end up that way."

Just then, Catherine walks back in. She smiles and says, "Everything okay in here?"

Lloyd turns to me and raises his eyebrows. Although I'm a bit reluctant, I get the message and decide to go with his plan. "Yeah. . . um. Can I use the restroom real quick?"

"Oh, of course, hon. It's only a few doors down this hallway. When you get back, we'll try and get ahold of your parents. Sound good?" I nod slightly. Uh oh. I definitely need to get out of here. "I gotta go run these documents real quick," Catherine says, holding up a stack of papers. "I'll be back in a jiffy."

As soon as the nurse disappears back into the hallway, I throw the single white sheet back with my good hand, and climb out of the bed. I flinch when my bare feet touch the freezing linoleum floor, and I scan the room for my backpack, because there is no way that I'm escaping and boarding a train in a hospital gown.

"It's over there," Lloyd states, pointing near a rack with stacks of towels folded neatly on top of one another. My backpack sits on the floor next to it with my clothes and hat stacked on top. The end of my wooden baseball bat sticks out the top of the bag. Lloyd rushes over and grabs all of it, then we step out into the hallway.

The coast is clear, except for a few visitors sitting on benches, and nurses traveling in and out of rooms, their attentions entirely focused on the clipboards they are holding.

"The back door is down this way," Lloyd whispers, gesturing for me to follow him down the hallway.

"Wait, I'm not leaving until I get out of _this._" I point to the ugly flower-print gown, then hold my hand out for my clothes. Lloyd sighs and hands them to me. "What? If I go out in this, it's just gonna make us look suspicious."

"Fine," he says. "I'll be on the lookout for the nurse."

We head to the bathroom, which is directly across from the hallway leading to the back door. Lloyd waits outside while I enter and head to the largest stall. It's a fairly difficult and long process changing with only one arm that's usable, but I manage to do it; with the exception of my bandanna and untied shoelaces.

Everything happened smoothly and easily, just as Lloyd said. He'd actually estimated the difficulty of a situation accurately for once. As soon as I'd gotten changed, Lloyd was where he'd said he'd be, waiting in the hallway. The nurse had not yet returned, so we figured this was our chance. Through the fluorescent-lit hallway, down the elevator, and out the back door we went. Not one person tried to stop us and ask who we were, what we were doing, or where we were going. If only the rest of this journey could be that easy. If only there weren't so many riddles and obstacles that keep getting in the way. But it's no use hoping that they'll lessen up, or just go away altogether, because they won't. The trouble has already begun, and it's not gonna stop. I can only hope that I'm patient enough to work through these problems, and that I'm strong enough-that we're strong enough-to take down whatever evil lies ahead of us.

* * *

The train station's packed. Brilliant. After (much to my embarrassment) having Lloyd tie my shoelaces for me, we'd trekked for about an hour to the train station. My feet are killing me, and standing in the ticket line on hard concrete isn't helping at all. My arm also itches inside its cast, and not being able to scratch it is driving me insane.

Upon arriving at the station, my mood has completely gone downhill. Not that breaking my pitching arm had put me in a good mood to begin with, but it sure won't be long before I start spitting fire at the next person who tries to cut in line.

"Next!" The frizzy-haired lady behind the counter yells. Finally, it's our turn.

"Two tickets to Snowman, please," Lloyd says, slapping a handful of coins and bills onto the countertop. The lady takes the money, then looks us up and down skeptically over the rims of her glasses.

"To Snowman?" she asks, raising her eyebrows.

"Yes."

Her eyes glance back and forth between us a few more times before she surrenders the tickets to Lloyd. "All right, if you say so. Two tickets to Snowman. Next!" We step out of line, and Lloyd hands me my ticket.

So, yeah. Snowman is a town _way_ north of here where it's pretty much winter all year round. But I'm sure one could easily guess that, judging by it's name. I completely understand the odd looks we'd received from the ticket vendor, because we are both in t-shirts and I am in shorts. I want to kick myself for not bringing at least one pair of warm clothes; a jacket at least, but of course it never crossed my mind that I might be going someplace cold. The money in my allowance jar is getting low, and after weighing our options, Lloyd and I both decided that it wasn't worth it to go buy clothes. After all, we wouldn't even be in Snowman for very long, just long enough to get off the train and board another one.

At last, the train arrives and we climb on board, taking a seat near the back of the coach. Finally I can give my legs a rest. I don't think that I will be sleeping much on this trip, mainly because I'd slept so long last night, but I'm sure that Lloyd will nod off in no time. I can assume that what little time he _did_ sleep last night wasn't very sound or comfortable. For a kid younger than me, I don't understand how he does it. Staying up all night and studying train schedules and whatnot. Well, I guess he's used to it, because he's probably stayed up many nights before putting together some whacko machine that he'd invented.

"Ready to kick some poltergeist butt?" Lloyd whispers. I say yes, but, like I said before, I don't believe that a haunted city will help us out very much. Who even knows if those old stories are true, anyway? Maybe there will be nothing to see or find there, but I guess there's only one way to truly know if the path we're treading is the right one. We have to keep following it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

_Morning light streams in through the stained glass windows of the vacant little chapel as I help my father put away the shiny brass offering plates and Communion chalices used during this morning's worship service._

"Ana, could you light these candles for me?" Dad asks, taking two tall cream-colored candles out from the cabinet behind the altar.

"Okay," I say, taking them from him. "Where do they go?"

"Under the cross. Thank you, sweetie."

I turn around and face the base of the giant wooden cross that stands at the head of the chapel. I bend over and blow out the old, nearly used up wax candles, then wave away the ribbons of smoke that are left spiraling through the air. I replace them with the new ones my dad had given me. To light them, I only have to concentrate for a few seconds each before their wicks flicker with delicate orange flames. They are candles that stay lit even when church isn't in service, and I'd been replacing the old ones with the new ones and lighting them with my powers since I was little.

"Oh, well hello, son." My father steps out from behind the altar, addressing a boy who is standing in the doorway at the back of the room with his mouth slightly agape. He's staring straight at me and I have a feeling that it's because he saw me light the candles without a match or lighter. Oh no. He probably thinks I'm some scary freak or alien now. I've never shown my gift to anyone outside of my family before. "Can we help you?" Dad asks.

The boy appears to jerk himself back to reality, then stutters a reply. "Oh, hi. Uh, yeah. Are you Ana?" He looks to me again.

"Yes," I say. My face feels hot.

"You are? Okay, well, I think this is your hat." He holds up a pink felt hat that I immediately recognize as mine. "It was back at the train station in Reindeer."

I throw my hands up to my head, just now realizing that I hadn't been wearing it. I hadn't even realized it was gone! "Oh my gosh! It is my hat!" I exclaim, completely forgetting about being seen using my powers. I run down the steps to meet the boy, who appears to be about the same age as me. He has dark hair and eyes, and is wearing a red and blue baseball cap. His right arm is enclosed in a plaster cast, and he holds my hat out in his left hand. The only thing I don't understand is why on Earth he's wearing a t-shirt and shorts in a place like Snowman. When I approach, his eyes seem to widen the slightest bit, and I remember what he'd just witnessed. He's probably freaked out right now. I come to a stop a few feet in front of him.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "but did you just. . . I mean. . . with the candles. It looked like you lit-"

"Huh? No, um, they're not real." I look down at the floor, feeling a little ashamed for lying. "They have batteries, and it takes a while for-"

"No, it's okay. It's just. . . I thought I was the only one."

I glance up. "What?" I ask, puzzled. He answers by looking down at my hat, which is still in his hand, and slowly it rises into the air, then floats slowly over to me. I take it gently out of the air and hold it against my chest, astonished. No way. I'd always thought that I was the only one.

I glance up at him, then remember my manners. "Oh, sorry. Thank you!" He nods in response. "I-I just can't believe it." There's a beat of silence before I ask, "What's your name?"

"Ninten."

_A sharp gust of cold air jerks me out of my dream and I squint against the sudden wind, momentarily unaware of where I am. I turn away from the window, muttering, "Somebody close that."_

"Oh no. Sorry Ana! Aw, crap," a loud voice comes from somewhere near me and I hear the window being tugged up. As soon as the wind stops, I blink rapidly, trying to wake up. Suddenly, I hear the familiar rhythm of the train wheels, and see the booths where all of my confirmation peers are sitting. Now I remember where I am. I'm still on the train back from camp. We aren't home yet. Apparently we'd traveled a long way since leaving Merrysville, the town with the landslide that had delayed us for about an hour. According to Mr. Gooding, the boulders blocking the tracks had been blown up! It was no surprise though. We'd heard the explosion clearly, being only a couple miles away, and it had rattled the windows a bit. I don't know how it blew up though. Had they used dynamite or something?

It's dark outside and some kids are sleeping, including my friends, but Ralph, Nolan, and the other guys are wide awake. They are staring at me with wide-eyed, sorrowful expressions.

"What?" I ask groggily.

Ralph glances at Nolan, then back to me."Um. Your hat. . . Aw, man. I'm sorry."

"Huh?" I reach a hand up to my head, only to find nothing. My hat is gone. "Oh no. Did it just. . ." I whip my head around to look out the window, even though nothing can be seen except town lights in the distance. I stand up and struggle to move past Emily's sleeping form hurriedly, yet without disturbing her too much.

"Hm?" she murmurs, shifting and starting to wake up.

"Sorry, Emily, I just have to go tell Mr. Gooding something." I make it out into the aisle and fast-walk all the way to the front of our coach, where the camp coordinator is sitting and reading a book with a small book-light.

"Uh, Mr. Gooding, we have to stop the train! My hat just blew out the window." I point outside with my arm fully extended.

"What, Ana?" He turns to me and looks up over the rims of his glasses. "Your hat?"

"Yes! We have to go back and find it before it's too late!" I try to whisper, but it's nearly impossible in my state of urgency.

"Ana, we can't stop the train, it's on a schedule. It's dark outside, too, and I won't allow anyone to go wandering around in the dark searching for it. I'm sorry."

"But it's-Where are we?" Why can't we just stop for a few minutes? It isn't too late yet!

"We just pulled out of the station in Reindeer. Somebody will probably find your hat and they can mail it to you if you call and claim it. I'm really sorry, Ana, but there's not much else I can do for you." Mr. Gooding looks up at me with genuine sympathy in his eyes.

I shut my eyes for a few seconds. "It's okay. Thank you, anyway." I rush back to where I'd been sitting, squeeze past Emily, and plop down onto the booth. I lean my head against the window, ignoring the gazes of Ralph and the others.

"Man, I'm real sorry, Ana," Ralph says. I look over at him and try to smile.

"It's okay. It's just a hat." I guess that it really is just a hat, but to me, it's become one of those things that I can't bear parting with. My parents had given it to me when I was just a baby, and of course at the time it was much too big for me to wear. But all of those years growing up until now, I couldn't wait for the day when I could strut around and show off that hat to everyone at church and school. Ever since it fit, I've worn it almost every day.

It is _a beautiful hat; a light-pink cloche with a ribbon wrapped around it and secured by a pink flower on the right side. Next to the flower, embroidered on the ribbon, is my name. Ana. I hope that Mr. Gooding is right, that someone will find it and mail it to me. Otherwise, I can't bear the thought that it might be on the train tracks, waiting to be run over by the next train._

"What happened?" I ask Ralph. "Why was the window down?"

"Oh," he replies, "well, when we pulled into the station, there were a bunch of people outside, and we opened the widows so we could wave and make funny faces at them. The train started moving again before we put the window up. . . and the wind blew your hat away. Again, I'm sorry. We were just messin' around, you know-"

"Really, it's okay. If someone finds it, then I'll be able to get it back."

He nods facing downward, then turns back around in his seat. I gaze out the window, staring into the darkness. After a while, through the dimness of the outside coach lights, I can see that it's begun to snow.

* * *

_I tug my suitcase down the steps leading out of the train coach and scan the crowd of people for my parents. It's about ten o'clock at night, and at last, we are home! Just feeling the familiar wintery breeze blowing through my hair and against my face brightens my mood greatly._

"Ana! There's my girl!" I look to see my dad come rushing toward me from the crowd and he scoops me up into a giant bear hug. I drop my suitcase handle and it smacks loudly against the concrete floor. "Did you have fun at camp?" he asks, pulling away from the embrace.

"Yep, but it's good to be home again. I missed you a lot. Mom, too." Mom had gone on a business trip to Youngtown a day after I left for camp, which was a week long. She'd said that she would be home in time to meet me when I got back, but maybe her train got delayed. Or, maybe she was already at home making cookies and cocoa, like in my imagination.

However, at the mention of Mom, my dad's eyes seem to go somewhat dull, and his expression becomes weary, almost sad. I want to ask if something's wrong, but maybe he's just tired. It is _late, after all. I pick my suitcase back up, wave to Monica, who is walking away with her parents, then follow Dad to his car. He lifts my suitcase into the trunk, then closes it._

"All right. Let's go home," my father says, and we both walk to opposite sides of the car. I hop into the front seat next to Dad, eager to get home and see Mom.

The car ride back to our house is actually rather silent, except for occasional questions from Dad about what kind of things we did at camp, did I meet any new friends, would I go back next year, etc. After a few minutes of silence pass, Dad lets out this heavy sigh. I glance over at him and see the same grim, weary face that had appeared for a moment back at the train station. I smile at him, and he looks at me, forcing a smile back. Now, I'm really starting to wonder if something's wrong.

When we arrive home, I lug my suitcase up the front steps, leaving thin wheel tracks in the dust of new snow. Dad unlocks the door and I rush inside, placing my suitcase up against the wall, then head for the kitchen. I don't smell anything baking; not cookies, or cocoa. I soon discover that the kitchen is empty. Apparently, Mom's not home either.

"Hey, Dad," I walk back out to the entryway slowly. "Where's Mom? Is she not home yet?"

My father solemnly hangs his jacket onto the coat-rack and runs a hand over his forehead. He looks stressed. "Honey. . . there's something I need to talk to you about, okay?" He takes a deep breath. "Let's go sit in the kitchen. Would you like some cocoa?"

There's a knot forming in my stomach and my heartbeat has begun to quicken. Something is definitely wrong. "Um, no, thanks. It can wait." I'd suddenly lost my appetite.

We sit down at opposite sides of the round pine table in the kitchen, and I can tell that Dad is reluctant to start talking. But after taking a deep, shuddering breath, he begins. "All right, Ana, I'm sorry that we have to do this when you just got home, but I feel it's best that you know."

The knot tightens. Know what?

"There's been an odd incident. . . in Youngtown while your mother was there. Late Wednesday night, all of the adults in the town vanished by an unknown cause and have been reported missing. . . Your mother was among those adults."

I'm shocked. My mom is missing? _At first I don't know how to respond, but soon tears begin to sting at the backs of my eyes. Wednesday was two days ago, she's been missing for that long, already. Dear God, please let her be okay._

"Quite a few children in the town called their grandparents, who live out of town, when they realized their parents were gone, and that's how we know about it now. There's been plenty of search parties and investigations going on, and I pray to the dear Lord that they find her, as well as the others." Dad's eyes become watery, and I can tell that he's trying to keep from crying. However, no matter how hard I try, I can't hold back the salty tears from spilling out and rolling down my cheeks. What makes everything ten times worse is that I'd lost the hat they'd given me as a baby; my very first gift from my mother and father that I'd planned to treasure my whole life. Now it is gone, and so is my mother.

I get up out of my chair and run into my father's arms, burying my face in his shoulder and letting my tears soak into the fabric of his shirt. I sniffle and let a few sobs loose, feeling like I'd just gotten the wind knocked out of me. I can't catch a breath, and I can't calm down.

"I know, I know," my dad soothes, rubbing my back with a large hand. "We'll find her, sweetie. We'll find her."

And so we sit there in the once homey, aromatic kitchen that now seems uncomfortably empty and cold, just like that. Crying, and praying that my mother is okay, and that she will be found and brought back to us soon.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


	9. Chapters 13-14

Chapter 13

Ten hours spent riding a train is a really long time. Especially when your only companion is off wandering the land of nod, and you don't have anything else to do except sit here and look out the window. I won't say that doing that on this trip is _boring_, exactly, because most of the scenery is actually pretty cool. All of the oak and maple trees with their bright summer leaves are being replaced by unbelievably tall evergreens, and the ground shifts from flat plains to rolling hills, and then finally to steep, snow-capped mountains. Although I can't feel the temperature growing colder from inside the train, I know that it's happening, for the windows soon become fogged up by condensation and I am no longer able to view the jagged mountainsides rising up around us as we ascend the slopes and crawl around the bends.

During this time, I pull Grandpa's diary out of my backpack and read through conspicuous riddles and passages that I just can't figure out. I study odd pictures and sketches; some of which look like plans and blueprints. He wrote about a secret hideout that he'd stayed in, a base of some sort. And he wrote about things that he was building, like the complex robot that was planned out over four whole pages. I want to find out more about the melodies, but there is nothing in the book that even seems to reference them. I begin to think that maybe Grandpa only knew so much. From what I'd read, it appears that he had never been to Magicant, so he would never have met Queen Mary. It seems that he was doing all this research and building all this stuff for the sole purpose of finding Grandma Maria and fighting off the alien race that planned to take over the world. According to Queen Mary, the melodies hold the answer to defeating the "greatest evil." If George was searching for this answer, and never found it, perhaps he just wasn't sure where to look or what to do. I realize that this diary isn't a book that holds all the answers and tells me what to do. It's a guide that points directions, and I need to follow them in order to finish what Grandpa started. Sure, it provides _some_ answers, but in the end it's up to me to figure the rest out. Maybe the reason he didn't write about the melodies wasn't to be cryptic, but because he just didn't know.

Although I'm trying to concentrate on the riddles and clues that _are_ given to me, it's kind of difficult because Lloyd, still asleep, keeps falling against my shoulder every time the train goes around a sharp curve, and I have to push him back upright again, and again, and again. I should've let _him_ sit by the window, because then he could lean up against _it_ instead of me. After pushing him back up for the sixth time, I'm really annoyed and I consider just waking him up, but that would be really rude. I mean, if it was _me_ that hadn't slept for almost two days, I wouldn't want someone shaking _me_ awake just because I was unconsciously getting on their nerves.

So, instead, I take a trip down to the lounge car. It's mostly vacant except for a guy behind the snack counter and a family eating cookies while reading magazines in the booths. It's hard to believe that the room is even a train car. It's got everything that would fit an ordinary diner; with tables, stools at the counter, curtains over the windows, a small dusty bookshelf against the wall, and even a television in the bar area. I have to do a double take, but yes, I also catch sight of two cats snoozing near the bookshelf. A Siamese and a tortoiseshell.

"What can I get for you, son?" The man behind the counter asks, wearing a black sweater vest over a white dress shirt and red tie.

"Um, I don't know. What is there?" I ask, scanning the shelves and refrigerator behind him.

"Well, let's see," he says, turning around. "We got chips, cookies, apples, pizza, tuna salad sandwiches, berry tofu . . . anything sound good yet?"

Berry tofu? Yuck. "I'll have pizza." I put down a couple dollars and the man places them in the cash register, then returns seventy-five cents in change to my hand.

"All right. It'll be a couple minutes, so you can go ahead an make yourself comfortable. There's some books over there if you like to read." He points to the small bookshelf. "Don't worry about the cats. They're mine, and I made a deal with the train service to let me keep them here."

"Oh. Okay." I make my way over to the bookshelf and scan the titles for something good, but all I'm seeing are dog-eared paperback picture books and a few beat up classics that I've already read. However, a thick, dark green volume on the bottom shelf catches my eye. Reaching down, I pick up the book and squint to read the extremely faded gold lettering inscribed on the cover. It appears to say _Anderson's Theories on Psychic Phenomena._ Okay. Now I'm intrigued.

I plop down into the nearest booth and set the book in front of me on the table. The cover is a bit dusty, and the pages yellowed, but otherwise the book is in great condition. I flip through, skimming the text casually and occasionally reading through some parts. It uses a lot of vocabulary that isn't familiar to me and the concepts are difficult to understand. Also, the book says that many forms of PSI call for sheer mind power, and I agree that mind power is absolutely necessary to use PSI, but it isn't _all_ that. I feel it coming from my soul more than anything. Like with the shield. I can't just think for a long time about creating one, and then it happens. There has to be a _feeling_ way deep down, as well as strong will power.

"So, what did you pick out? Anything interesting?" The man approaches with a personal pizza on a paper plate and sets it in front of me, along with some napkins. I turn the book upwards so he can see the cover. "Ah. That thing has been here since before I even starting working on this train. In all my six years, I don't think I've ever seen a finger touch that book besides mine. Until now, of course."

"Do you know how old it is?" I ask, taking a bite of the pizza. The crust is soft and a bit greasy, typical of a microwaved frozen pizza. It doesn't taste bad though. Not exactly a five-star meal, but hey, it's food.

"Well, I was told someone donated it back in the twenties," He sits down across from me. "so I imagine it must be pretty damn old." He takes the book by a corner and drags it towards him. I take another bite and watch him turn the pages gingerly. "Do you think any of this stuff is real?" he asks, glancing up.

I shrug, in the middle of chewing. "Dunno. Not really, I guess. Can't be any more real than aliens, right?"

He lets out a chuckle. "Aliens. Or ghosts, I suppose." He flips through a few more pages. "That doesn't stop it from being interesting, though. And one can always wonder." I nod my head in agreement.

"I mean. Who knows? Maybe Bigfoot and the Loch Ness monster _are_ real," he says, then gestures to the cats sleeping beside the bookshelf. The tortoiseshell has begun to stir. "Maybe cats _do_ have nine lives."

_"Oh, please,"_ a female voice says. _"Who even came up with that idea? Don't listen to him, he's being ridiculous."_

I glance around, trying to figure out who said that. The man across from me seems not to have heard it, for he's still leafing through the book, studying the text. My eyes come to rest once again on the tortoiseshell cat, which has now begun to yawn and stretch. Could it have been-

_"What are you lookin' at?"_ the voice says accusingly, and the cat meets my gaze.

_"Are-are you talking to me?"_ I ask, astonished. I'd never been able to talk to any animal on Earth besides Mick.

_"Well, yes, I'm talking to you. . . Wait, can you understand me?"_

I glance back to the man and notice that he's staring at me with a curious expression. Probably because I had been staring across the room and making weird facial expressions. I smile back awkwardly.

_"Hel-lo?"_ the cat persists.

_"No!"_ I state, trying to cover myself by starting on the last piece of pizza. _"I mean, yes. But not right now-"_

_"Hey, wake up."_ The cat steps on the other's tail, making the Siamese stir and begin to stretch. _"This human kid can talk to us."_

_"No, really, I can't talk right now-"_

_"So, if this is possible, then do some cats actually have nine lives?"_

_"I don't-"_

_"You should get me some sardines from behind that counter. Oh! And some milk too."_

I stuff the last of the pizza into my mouth and hurry out of the booth to shove the plate in the trash. "Sorry, I gotta go. I'm, uh, supposed to be watching my little brother."

"Oh, all right," the man replies, taken aback by my sudden need to leave. "Thanks for stopping by!"

_"Right. Rudely ignore the cat, why don't you-"_ her voice is cut off as I rush out the door and hurry back to coach where Lloyd and I are sitting. Wow. That was one close call.

Heading back to our seat, I notice that Lloyd is awake, and he gives me an irritable look as I approach. "There you are! Where did you go?"

"To the snack car. I was hungry, and-"

"And you didn't get _me_ anything? I'm hungry too, you know." He crosses his arms over his chest.

I roll my eyes. "Well, sounds like _someone_ woke up on the wrong side of the train car. Scoot over, will you?" Lloyd huffs and moves next to the window. I sit down beside him. "Look, I didn't expect you to be awake yet. If you want something to eat, then go get it yourself. _I'm_ not going back there."

He doesn't respond and we remain silent for a few minutes. When Lloyd's wake-up-crankiness subsides, he turns away from the clouded window and asks, "What is it? I mean, you looked like you'd seen a ghost when you came back here."

"Huh?"

"Come on. We aren't in Spookane _yet._"

Although Lloyd seems wide enough awake, noticeable traces of fatigue still outline his face. With super pale skin and dark circles under his eyes, he could pass for a ghost himself.

"No, that was nothing," I say, reluctant to tell him about the cats.

"I believe it was something."

"No, it wasn't. You just looked mad. . . and it turns out you were."

"Really, I wasn't mad, just tired. . ." Lloyd trails on, but I'm now focusing more on the motion of the train, which has begun to move noticeably slower every few seconds.

"Um, I think the train's stopping. Are we in Snowman yet?" I glance around the train car, but only a few people are getting ready to leave their seats.

"Is this the first time we've stopped?" Lloyd asks, pushing his spectacles higher on the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah."

"Then no, we aren't there yet. We're in Reindeer, approximately two hours from Snowman."

I sigh and lean my head back against the top of the seat. How much more boring could this trip get? Two more hours to Snowman, and then I don't now _how_ many more to Spookane. I guess I could ask Lloyd, because he probably knows, but at the same time I don't really _want_ to know right now. "God, I wish we could just take a plane," I drawl, shaking my head at the ceiling.

"Yes, but plane tickets are much too expensive, and we've already come this far. Plus, they wouldn't allow you to bring that baseball bat aboard, and I'm actually quite surprised you got away with it on this train. If I had any, I wouldn't be able to bring bottle rockets either."

I turn my head towards him, wearing a sarcastic expression. "Oh really? Well, that makes no sense at all."

He doesn't look my way, because he's too busy writing out some math or physics equation on the fogged up window with his finger. He does, however, answer my statement seriously. "Actually, yes. It makes perfect sense. Baseball bats and bottle rockets would be counted as potential weaponry, and they-"

"It's called sarcasm, Lloyd."

"What is?" Lloyd turns away from the window and looks at me innocently. You'd think a nerd would know sarcasm when he heard it.

"Never mind," I say, and he frowns thoughtfully. Then, he turns back to the window and makes a few more marks, occasionally glancing at the watch on his wrist.

"Aha!" Lloyd exclaims. "Right on schedule! Just as I predicted, we should arrive at nine thirty sharp."

"Okay. Well, then wouldn't that put us in Spookane somewhere in the middle of the night? Or did you happen to overlook that fact."

Lloyd frowns and glances quickly down at his wristwatch. "Oh. Well, see, technically it would be extremely early in the _morning_. . . but it's not really _that_ big of a deal. . . right?" He squints his eyes and glances at me nervously.

Well, it really _isn'_t a big deal. But still, I wouldn't want to be wandering around a supposedly haunted city in the middle of the night with barely enough money for a motel room. Not only because of the fright an alleged ghost could cause us, but being a kid, it's hard enough to go unnoticed for odd things like roaming the streets alone. However, with _another_ kid, a stuffed full backpack, a baseball bat, and a broken arm. . . well, that only adds up to _more_ trouble.

I look up towards the front of the coach to see a middle-aged woman holding up a pink hat and looking around at all of the passengers. "Excuse me!" she yells over people's voices. "This train stops in Snowman, correct?"

Words of affirmation are murmured among the passengers and the lady continues speaking. "This hat was found shortly after the train carrying a group of confirmation students left the station, and I believe it belongs to one of them. She's got her name on it. Ana. Does anyone happen to know her?"

People exchange glances and murmur amongst themselves, but none offer to take the hat back to girl named Ana. I remember a time when I was no more than five years old, and Dad agreed to take me on one of his business trips to San Francisco after I begged him to let me come. I soon discovered that Dad was a boring, regular businessman, and not a secret spy guy like I'd often imagined. So, being the kindergartner that I was, I couldn't go anywhere out alone, or even stay in the hotel by myself. I just had to sit out in the lobby of the business building and look at boring magazines and drink lukewarm water from the water dispenser out of cone-shaped cups. At the end of the week, Dad said that he would make it up to me by taking me to see the San Francisco Giants play at the stadium before we left for home. I had barely started playing T-Ball, and had no idea who the San Francisco Giants were, but the way Dad said it let me know that it would be so much more fun than anything else I'd done that week.

The whole day, I could hardly hold myself still in that drab, uncomfortable lobby chair I always sat in. It seemed that evening would never come. But at last, it did. After he got off work, Dad and I took a taxi out to the stadium and bought tickets, and as we were heading out to the field, we passed snack stands and gift shops, breathing in the aromas of hot dogs, cotton candy, and new baseball jerseys. It was as we were passing one of these gift stands that I saw it. A red and blue baseball cap. I don't even remember what exactly made me want it. I just liked the colors, and thought it looked cool. I pointed it out to Dad and he'd chuckled in amusement, taking the hat off the hook and setting it on my head. It was far too big, and covered my eyes, but Dad said it looked good on me, and he bought it.

"You deserve it, little man," he'd told me.

We stayed for the entire game, eating popcorn and cheering the team on. I wore my new baseball cap draped over the back of my head, because that was the only way I could wear it if I wanted to see. The Giants won, and after the victory fireworks display, Dad and I had to rush back to the hotel to get our bags, and then hurry to the airport before the flight left. I didn't want to risk my hat falling off my head as we ran through the airport, and there was no room left in my child-size suitcase, so I stuffed it in the front pocket. We made it through all of the scanning and luggage stations, and I held on to Dad's hand as we sprinted to catch our plane. It wasn't until we were on board that I glanced down at my bag. It was small, and I'd been allowed to carry it with me on the flight, but there was something missing in the front pocket that I knew I'd put there before. My hat.

My heart instantly dropped, and in desperation, I told Dad that we had to go back and find it. There was no way I was going to lose it already. However, it was too late. The doors were closed and Dad and I had to go to our seats. I screamed and threw a fit, frustrated that there was nothing I could do. The other passengers glanced at me curiously, and soon their looks became annoyed. Dad tried everything to calm me down. He said that it was just a hat, and he would get me a new one when we got home. But to me, it wouldn't be the same. Home was hundreds of miles away, and I doubted there would be one just like it. And the hat I'd lost was the one I'd gotten on an evening I would never forget. An evening I'd gotten to spend with Dad. An evening when I'd confirmed the San Francisco Giants as my favorite baseball team. An evening when I'd promised myself that I would keep that hat forever.

Although it seemed impossible, I eventually calmed down and fell asleep. When I awoke again, I was in the car on the ride home from the airport. My suitcase was set on the floor on the opposite side of the car, and when I saw that the front pocket was still empty, I cried some more, having hoped that I'd merely dreamt my hat was lost.

I wasn't able to sleep much the rest of that night, for I was too busy wondering where it could be now, and hoping that some other mean little kid hadn't found it and kept it.

I needn't have worried, however, because Dad called the airport the next day, and they said that they had found my hat and would mail it to us as soon as possible. After nearly a week of waiting, it finally came, looking just as I'd remembered it. I'd promised myself that I would never, ever lose it again.

It was for this reason, for this memory of that horrible feeling of losing something important, that I found myself blurting out, "I'll take it to her."

The train car goes quiet. "What?" Lloyd whispers, incredulous.

"You will?" the lady at the front of the coach asks as she looks to me.

"Yeah, it's no problem," I say. People begin talking again as the woman makes her way toward me. "Ana and I are pen pals, and I'm on my way to visit her."

"Oh really? That's so cute." The lady hands the pink hat to me. "Thank you so much."

"It's nothing."

She smiles and walks back up the aisle, disappearing through the door.

"What were you thinking?" Lloyd hisses. "Pen pals? Do you _actually_ know this girl?"

I roll my eyes and turn to him. "No, but I've lost _my_ hat before, and if this one holds any sort of importance to Ana, then I can relate."

"But, Ninten, how are we supposed to find her? We're on a schedule."

"So far, it's not that great of a schedule, seeing that we would arrive in Spookane _extremely early in the morning._ We might as well just stay the night in Snowman. It's a small town, right?"

". . . Smaller than Merrysville. . ." he replies quietly.

"Okay. Then we shouldn't have much trouble finding her." I slump low in the seat and tug my hat down over my face. "I'm out. Wake me up when we get there."

I wasn't actually going to fall asleep, I just needed an excuse to stop talking. What is up with Lloyd, anyway? What does he find so bad about taking a hat back to some girl who'd lost it? And, well, you never know. Maybe Ana will end up being one of the "others" who are supposedly meant to join me on this quest. Out of all the possible people in the world, I'm not betting on it, but it's best to keep an open mind. So far, Lloyd has shown no intentions of abandoning me, and he obviously seems more determined to get on with the mission than I am. Maybe he's one of the "others" too?

Oh, well. I guess I'll figure this all out eventually.

Chapter 14

"Oh my g-gosh! It's f-freezing out here!" I hiss through clenched teeth as Lloyd and I step off the train to meet bitter gusts of wind and snow. I instantly regret not buying warm clothes, and if I ever complained about hot summer weather, I swear on my life that I never will again.

Lloyd pulls up beside me, hugging himself to retain warmth, and we begin heading out of the station and into town. At least _he's_ wearing actual pants, and not shorts. "Are you s-still sure that you want to stay here?"

"Yes," I state. "I already said that I would, so I have to. We just have to find Ana."

"Well, what are you going to do? Go door to door?"

"What? Heck no. We'll just have to find someone and ask them if they know where she lives." As we pass by, I gaze in through glistening store windows lit up against the darkness. Some display clothes, others show all sorts of home decorations. There is a movie gallery, a book store, a small Asian restaurant, and place that sells musical instruments. Unable to stop myself, I veer toward a shop displaying coats and boots and stop outside the window. I can already feel the snow caked around my feet begin to melt and soak through my shoes. I would gladly spend my money on a pair of those warm winter boots.

"Ninten, we have to save our money for more train tickets. And food, too," Lloyd reminds me.

"I know. . . But maybe we could sneak in through the back and steal some stuff from storage," I say, raising an eyebrow. I'm not actually serious about this.

"Someone would likely see us."

"Well, I dunno. _You_ seem to blend in pretty well," I joke. Lloyd just scowls. "Come on, let's just see how much some of these cost."

We enter the store, which, thankfully, is heated. I make my way over to a rack of coats with Lloyd following suit and check the price tag of one. A whopping forty bucks. "Are you kidding me? For a coat?" I glance at Lloyd in disbelief. He checks a tag from the next rack and shakes his head.

"This one's thirty-five. . . but that isn't much better," he says.

"Can I help you?" A young woman with chestnut brown hair walks near us and stacks a few shoeboxes onto a shelf.

"Right now we're just looking," I reply. "We're from out of town and were hoping we could find a couple coats for cheap."

"What's your definition of cheap?" She says, turning to me.

I shrug. "I don't know. . . five bucks?"

She chuckles. "Now, I don't think you'll find any _coats_ for that much here. There might be some hats or gloves near the back, but if you're looking for coats, then I'd say check out the used clothing store on Pine Street. Everything here is new."

"Oh. Okay, thanks."  
"Where are you guys from anyway? Must be someplace warm judging by what your wearing. Didn't you think ahead at all?" The lady walks over to a shelf and begins to refold sweaters that had been messed up by previous customers.

"I'm from Podunk," I say.

"Merrysville," Lloyd mutters.

"Wow, really?" She glances up from the stacks of sweaters. "That's a long way to travel for a couple of kids."

"Yeah. We're actually headed for Spookane, but we stopped here so I could give this hat back to a girl who'd lost it at the station in Reindeer." I stop to retrieve the hat from my backpack, then hold it out for her to see. "Her name is Ana. Would you happen to know her?"

She stops folding and glances at the hat. "I don't know her personally, but I know who she is. Her father is the pastor of the church down the street." She glances at her watch. "I've heard that they're holding a service down there right now for her mother, who's gone missing. Poor girl. If it wasn't for my shift, I would probably be down there myself."

"Wait, did you say her mother has gone missing?" Maybe Snowman had been hit by the poltergeist epidemic as well. "Have any dark clouds passed over here lately?"

The woman gives me a puzzled look. "What does that have to do with-"

"Have any _unusually_ dark clouds passed over lately?" I persist.

"Um. . . no?" She says, appearing even more confused.

"Oh. . . Really?" I suddenly feel stupid for assuming that this case had something to do with the cloud and poltergeists. It could easily be just like any other missing person situation.

"Yes. But I don't understand how the weather has anything to do with Ana's mother."

"Nothing." I wave the topic away. "Just forget I said anything."

She looks curiously at me for a few seconds before turning away and walking back to the checkout counter. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Nope, that'll be it." Lloyd and I make our way back to the door and open it against a gust of wind. "Thanks!"

"No problem!"

The wind slams the door closed and we are once again trekking through ankle-deep snow. At least now we know where to find Ana. That already makes this trip so much easier and faster, despite Lloyd having to stop every now and again to wipe water droplets from his glasses. By the time we reach the end of the road where the church sits, I can't stop my teeth from chattering, and my feet are completely soaked and numb. I can faintly hear the sound of a man speaking inside, but the words cannot be distinguished. Snow has piled up on the sills of the stain-glass windows, which are lit up by a warm glow from inside. I reach for the door handle, but Lloyd throws a nearly frozen-stiff hand in front of it to stop me.

"Wait. What if we aren't welcome here right now?" He says.

"Oh, come on, Lloyd. Everyone's welcome at church." I reach for the handle again, but he stops me.

"But the lady said that it's for her _missing mother._ I don't think we should interfere."

"But the lady also said that she would've gone if she could, and she doesn't even know them either. Look, all's we're going to do is sit and wait until it's over, and then give the hat back to Ana. It's late, so the service will probably be done soon, anyway."

"Okay. . ." Lloyd sighs, and I reach for the door handle a third time. Just as I'm about to turn it, Lloyd blurts out: "You know what? How about I just wait outside. It's not really _that_ cold out here-"

I turn to him, incredulous. "Are you kidding me? It's _freezing_, Lloyd! Really, what is up? You had absolutely no trouble barging into that school and factory and pulling those ridiculous stunts a few days ago! Why are you so scared now?"

Lloyd crosses his arms over his chest as if he's trying to make himself smaller. "It's just. . . there's probably a lot of people in there. . . and it's quiet. If we go in, they'll all look at us-"

"So what if they do?"

"It's embarrassing! Haven't you ever been late to class before? Don't you hate it when everyone stares at you?"

"Well, yeah, but who cares?" I gesture to the church. "And it's not like you have to walk in there alone. In fact, that's what _you're_ about to make _me_ do."

"I'm also not good at talking to girls," Lloyd adds.

I stare at him. "Okay, is this one of those 'girls have cooties' things, or are you _scared_ to talk to them, or are you just not good at it?" I can't believe it. At first, I was almost starting to think that Lloyd might actually be braver than me, but now his soft side is really beginning to show.

"All of those. . . Well, except for the 'cootie' one. I've just never been good at talking to other kids-"

"You talk to me," I point out.

"That's because back at the school, _you_ were talking to _me_ like you actually cared about who I was, and didn't look at me like I was some sort of freak. You're nice."

"Well, I don't doubt that Ana's nice too. If you want, I'll do all the talking, but you are _not_ going to stand out here and get frostbite, okay?"

"Fine. . ." he sighs, giving up, and we enter the church together. Well, Lloyd was right about people turning and looking at us, but it was only a few faces, not the entire congregation. Then, suddenly, the door slams shut behind Lloyd and the pastor's voice slows as more people turn to stare at us. "Lloyd!" I hiss.

"Sorry!" he whispers back, his extremely pale face turning red as a pepper. "It was the wind!"

The pastor continues speaking and people turn back around as we scoot into a pew near the back. I scan the seats in front of us, looking for any girls who might possibly be Ana. My eyes come to rest on a blonde girl with low pigtails sitting in the third row from the front. She seems to have been staring at _me_ first. However, once she realizes that I've seen her, she quickly whips her head back around. I nudge Lloyd in the side. "Hey, do you see that girl over there? The one with the blond hair?"

"Where?" He whispers, scanning the rows.

"At the front." Suddenly, she turns around again. "See, look!"

"Oh, yeah." Lloyd says, and the girl turns away again.

"Do you think she could be Ana?"

"Maybe. She looks like her name could be Ana, but that's hardly proof. You'll just have to ask her."

We're quiet the rest of the service. The pastor speaks very well, and I try to follow along as best I can. However, the warmth and dim lighting of the church make me very tired and all I want to do is lay down in the pew and fall asleep. When he begins speaking more about his wife - Ana's mother - I almost wish that I _could_ fall asleep, because it makes me miss my own mother very much.

I must have dozed off just a bit, because Lloyd nudges me and I open my eyes to see people solemnly leaving the room. Some of them walk back past us and out into the freezing cold night, while others enter a second wing of the church through a side door. I glance to the girl who I'd suspected was Ana. She's moved out of her seat, but rather than leaving the chapel, she stands at the front, speaking to the pastor with her head hung. Then, he puts an arm around her shoulders and they walk towards the altar together. I'm about to grab Lloyds arm and drag him to the front with me so I can talk to the girl, but Lloyd takes ahold of mine first and pulls me out of the side door.

Here, there are a couple of offices, a classroom, a staircase leading up, and a gigantic old bible under a display case. "What the heck are you doing?" I exclaim, breaking out of his grasp. "That girl in there is Ana!"

"Are you sure she is?"

"As sure as I can be!"

"Well, why don't you go back in there, then? I'll just wait here. It will be less time spent on introductions." His eyes dart around the room and stop on the huge bible. "Oh! And I am extremely fascinated by this King James Bible here! You know, there are only about one hundred-sixty-something original copies in existence today. This one's in Hebrew, so I wonder if it could be one of them! Did you know that it was translated into 2,454 languages out of-"

"Lloyd. I get it. You're too scared to talk to her." I say, and he opens his mouth to protest. "And I don't mean that in a bad way!" I reassure. "If you wan't to stay out here, fine."

Lloyd sighs and his gaze is unmoving as he stares downward at the display case. Taking a seat on a cushioned bench against the wall, I pat the space next to me. He joins me on the bench, keeping his eyes cast downward. "Okay, I'm no counselor," I say, "but I am you're friend."

At this, Lloyds gaze shifts up from the floor, but not at me. "Everyone has fears, okay? And my dad used to tell me that the only way to keep your fears from conquering _you_ is to conquer _them_ first."

Now he looks at me. "Yeah, but it doesn't happen _all_ the time. You saw how I talked to that factory worker, and the nurse, and the ticket lady. Big crowds don't scare me either. . . unless I'm the center of attention. I mean. . . I guess it's just because of school. . . and the bullies."

"Yeah, but Lloyd, we've been over all that stuff about the bullies. They are far, far, _far_ away right now, and this isn't school. It's _church_, okay?" Lloyd nods his head, and I stand up. "Now, I'm going to go talk to Ana. If you decide that you want to come with me, that'd be awesome, but it's all right if you don't." He nods again, and I walk back into the chapel. I pause for a second, waiting to see if he'll follow me in, but he doesn't. Well, I tried.

I glance toward the altar and see the girl standing behind it, with her back turned to me. However, I can see that her hands are positioned above two candles placed under the giant wooden cross overlooking the room, and after a few seconds, the candle wicks flicker to life. I'm pretty sure that my jaw has dropped open, but I'm too shocked to close it. Had she lit those candles with her _mind?_ Was I really not the only person in the world that could use PSI? My heart is thumping with excitement. There are other people - other _kids _- like me!"

"Oh, well hello, son." The pastor rises and steps out from behind the altar. "Can we help you?"

I jerk myself back to reality, realizing that he'd been addressing me. "Oh, hi. Uh, yeah. Are you Ana?" I stutter, looking back towards the girl.

"Yes," she says, appearing slightly nervous.

"You are? Okay, well, I think this is your hat." I slip off my backpack with my good hand, setting it on the floor, and take the pink hat right off the top of the other stuff jammed into the bag. I hold it up for her to see. "It was back at the train station in Reindeer."

Ana leans forward a bit as if trying to get a better look, then gasps and throws her hands up to her mouth. "Oh my gosh! It _is_ my hat!" she exclaims, glancing at her father, and then hurrying over to meet me. She stops a few feet in front of me.

I hate to be this abrupt, but I just have to know if what I'd seen was true. "I'm sorry," I whisper, "but did you just. . . I mean. . . with the candles. It looked like you lit-" She cuts me off, her eyes widening in worry and embarrassment.

"Huh? No, um, they're not real." She looks down at the floor. "They have batteries, and it takes a while for-"

"No, it's okay." I know that she's lying to cover up her abilities. "It's just. . . I thought I was the only one."

Ana glances up at me with sea-green eyes, a surprised, yet puzzled expression crossing her face. "What?"

I answer by looking down at her hat and concentrating on it. Slowly, it rises into the air, and I push it her way. She receives it gingerly, her eyes wide, and hugs it to her chest.

"I'd always thought that _I_ was the only one," she whispers. We are both silent for a few moments before she glances up, as if remembering something. "Oh, sorry. Thank you!" she says, and I nod. "I-I just can't believe it." There's a beat of silence before she whispers. "I can't believe any of it. . . You're. . . You're Ninten. . . aren't you?"

My jaw involuntarily drops open again. How had she known that? "Yeah! How. . . How did you know that?"

"It came to me in a dream," she whispers. "I saw our whole meeting, as it happened just now! There _were_ differences, though. It was morning instead of night, and in my dream, I didn't even know that my hat was gone! When I saw you enter the church earlier, you looked _so_ familiar, but I just couldn't put my finger on where I'd seen you before. But now, I-I remember everything perfectly!"

"So, it was like you saw the future?" I ask. This is so cool! I can't believe that I'm actually talking to a fellow psychic freak!

"I guess so. I mean, I've never had that happen before. I would never have expected it to come true!"

"Is everything all right over here?" Ana's father approaches us, grinning slightly in amusement of our expressions.

"Dad!" Ana exclaims. "I want you to meet Ninten. He has a gift like I do, and I remember seeing him in a dream. Somehow, I knew that he would come. Isn't that crazy?!"

Her father chuckles and pats Ana on the back. "Calm down, Ana. You don't want to scare the poor boy." He looks to me. "Welcome, Ninten. You may call me Pastor Dan. I can't thank you enough for bringing Ana's hat back to her. It means so much."

"It's no problem at all, and I never would've thought that something like _this_ would come out of it," I say, referring to gift both Ana and I share.

"I know!" Ana says excitedly. "I have so many questions to ask you. Would you like to come over for hot chocolate?"

"Ana, sweetie, it's late." Pastor Dan begins, then turns to me. "And I'm sure you have to be someplace, don't you?"

"Well, actually we were just passing through. Me and a friend, Lloyd. He's waiting out there." I gesture to the side door. "I tried to get him to come in, but he gets shy sometimes."

"Oh, that's okay," Ana says. "He has nothing to be shy about, and he's welcome to come too." She turns to Pastor Dan. "_Please_, Dad?"

"Well. . . I suppose, if it's all right with you and your friend. You can borrow some coats from the lost and found if you'd like. I don't know how you managed to not freeze out there."

"Thanks," I say. "Hold on just a second, and I'll go get Lloyd." I hurry out of the chapel, and Lloyd is sitting exactly where I left him, twiddling his thumbs. He glances up when I approach.

"Was it her?" he asks.

"Yep."

"All right, then. Do you want to find a cheap hotel, or just head back to the train station?"

I bite my lip and hesitate. How should I put this? "Well, actually Lloyd, Ana and her father invited us over to their place for hot chocolate, and I said we would come."

Now it was Lloyd's turn to drop his jaw. "What? Ninten!"

I roll my eyes. "Lloyd, please. They're extremely kind people, and I found out that Ana can use PSI powers too. I've never met anyone else in my entire life who is like me!"

". . . Wow, really? Small world, eh?"

I nod. "Tell me about it. So, please? I said that I would be back with you." Lloyd sighs in response. "Come on. I promise that no one is going to think you're a freak."

A few moments of silence pass before Lloyd stands up and walks over to me. "Are you. . . coming?" I ask, a bit puzzled. He just looks at me. I decide to take that as a yes and step back into the chapel. This time, Lloyd follows, but he hangs back a bit and stuffs his fists in his pockets.

"Okay. Pastor Dan and Ana, this is Lloyd. Lloyd, this is Pastor Dan and Ana."

"It's good to meet you, Lloyd." Pastor Dan says, reaching out to shake Lloyd's hand. Lloyd stares at the hand, then glances up at his face. Slowly and hesitantly, he takes a hand out of his pocket, and shakes with the pastor.

"Yes, it's good to meet you!" Ana says warmly as she and Lloyd shake hands as well. "Now, who's up for some cocoa?"

Lloyd smiles slightly and glances at me. I smile back and nod my head. _See, Lloyd?_ I think. _That wasn't so bad after all, was it?_

"And, well, that's how it all began. Somehow, I just know that I have to solve the mystery to these poltergeists, and finish what my grandfather started." I finish telling the beginning of my story, up until Magicant. We are sitting in Ana's living room while Pastor Dan makes cocoa for us. Ana and I had taken a seat on the couch while Lloyd drifted over to a chair across the room near the window, which he is now gazing out of.

"Wow," Ana says. "So, how did you come across Lloyd? Did you guys just run into each other, or what?"

Lloyd looks toward us at the mention of his name, but says nothing. "Oh, man." I exhale. "That is an entirely different chapter in itself." Do I really feel like telling the tale of Magicant right now? Honestly, no. "But if it wasn't for Lloyd, we probably wouldn't even be in Snowman right now. I also wouldn't have a broken arm." I chuckle and glance at Lloyd, who does a lopsided grin and looks back out the window.

"See, back in Merrysville, which is where I met Lloyd, the train tracks were blocked off by this landslide, and it was taking forever for workers to figure out a way to move the boulders. I really wanted to get on with the mission, but I would have been perfectly fine with waiting." I glance over to Lloyd again. "That is, until _someone_ brought up this _insane_ idea of blowing up the stuff with a _missile._ It worked, but I ended up having to go to the hospital for it because I fell off the cliff-"

"Hold up," Ana interjects. "So that was _you guys_ who blew up those boulders? I can't believe it. I was on that train back from camp! The one that was stopped!"

I gape at her. "You've gotta be kidding me! Is it just me, or is this world getting smaller and smaller?"

Ana turns to look at Lloyd. "You did it with a _missile?_ That really is insane! But it was brave, too."

At that moment, Pastor Dan enters the room with a tray of cocoa mugs and sets it on the coffee table. Ana and I reach over and grab ours, while Lloyd walks over, takes his, and retreats back to his seat. "I can make a batch of cookies if you want," Ana's dad says. "I doubt that they would be as good as your. . . as your mother's. . . but I'll do my best." He looks to the floor and moves a hand across his forehead.

"It's okay, Dad," Ana smiles sadly. "You've already done so much. Why don't you just sit down and rest for a while?"

"Oh, no, I insist. I'm sure that you all are hungry, anyway. And I need to be doing something. It helps to take my mind off this tragedy." He strolls back into the kitchen.

Ana sighs and looks down at the cocoa she holds on her lap. "I'm really sorry about your mom," I say.

She nods slowly. "I'm so worried about her, but I absolutely can't stand to see _Dad_ worried and sad about her, too. I just wish that I knew for sure if she's all right." Ana pauses, then looks at me. "You know, I'm almost beginning to wonder if her going missing was due to that cloud, or those aliens you were telling me about."

"It could be, but that's another thing that I don't get." I set my mug back onto the coffee table. "If these aliens are planning to take over the _whole world_, and if they're using the cloud and poltergeists as preparation of some sort, then why would they stop after Podunk? I even asked someone in Snowman if they had seen an unusual cloud like it, and they said no."

"It didn't stop after Podunk," Lloyd states. This is the first time he's spoken since we got here, and it makes both Ana and I jump. Ana's lucky enough not to spill her cocoa. "It was heading towards Merrysville the day before the landslide. I saw it when school got out."

"And you didn't tell me?" I exclaim in disbelief. "I'd been thinking all this time that I may have hit a dead end! Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think it was important anymore, because the landslide happened during the night, and it's not like I saw where the cloud went after that!"

"Also," Ana breaks in, "my mom went missing in Youngtown, not Snowman, and it was a really strange incident. All of the adults in the town suddenly vanished last wednesday night. The only reason that anyone found out about it was because some kids called their grandparents who lived out of town. It sounds a little suspicious, don't you think?"

"So, could the cloud have skipped Snowman, then?" I ask.

"It's possible," Lloyd remarks.

"Aw, dang it! So, that means that the aliens are way ahead of us, doesn't it?"

"Relax, Ninten," Ana puts a hand on my shoulder. "They've got a whole world to cover."

"If they haven't covered it already. . . small as it is." I mutter.

"No one's allergic to chocolate, right?" Pastor Dan calls from the kitchen. Ana glances from me to Lloyd. We shake our heads.

"Yep! No one's allergic!" Ana yells back.

"Okay! Just making sure, before I put the chocolate chips in!"

Ana chuckles as she turns back to us. "Why don't we talk about something _happy_ right now?" she suggests, leaning back casually on the sofa. "Or at least something that isn't stressful and packed with riddles."

"Like what?" I ask.

Her eyes scan the ceiling, as if a the perfect conversation topic would suddenly appear there. After a few seconds, she drops her gaze. "I'm not sure."

My eyes wander to Lloyd, who's picking at a loose thread or something on his pants, to Ana, who's staring straight ahead and appears to be lost in thought, then finally come to rest on the crackling orange fire inside the large brick fireplace beside the couch. I watch the flames dance as we sit in silence. We must all be getting tired.

"When was it that you found out you could use PSI?" I find myself asking, not shifting my gaze from the fire.

"Hm? Oh. It was. . . It was first grade, I think," Ana says.

"What happened?"

"It's a funny story, actually." She laughs, remembering. "I was walking back to class from the restroom at school one day, when I passed one of the upper-grades' classrooms. I was barely tall enough to peek through the window into the room, but I saw all of these poor little frogs trapped in jars on the students' desks. The teacher stood at the front, holding up a silver scalpel and explaining something to the class. On the blackboard behind her were the words 'Frog Dissection' with an exclamation mark. Even though I didn't know what the word 'dissection' meant, I still knew that those people were going to kill those frogs, and I had to do something about it! I was trying to think of a way that I could somehow sneak into the classroom and free the frogs, when suddenly, the jars containing them began rising into the air. Their lids unscrewed themselves, and the frogs were dumped out onto the desks. I was as baffled as the teacher and students were. I had no idea that it was _me_ who was subconsciously freeing them. But they didn't just sit there, you see. Oh, no! Those frogs hopped all over the place! The girls were standing on their desks and chairs to try and stay above the mob of croaking amphibians, and the boys were running around trying to catch them. It was hilarious! Even when the principal and more teachers came down to help get everything back in order, what sort of logical explanation were the teacher and students willing to give? I don't think they ever found out what really happened, and it was a little while before I realized that I'd caused the mess myself." Ana laughs again, finishing her story. "What about you?" she asks me.

"Ha! Well, my story is nowhere near as interesting as that," I say, and tell her about how I bent the spoon as a baby when my mom was feeding me. Ana thinks it's hilarious, and even Lloyd lets out a chuckle.

"So, what kinds of PSI powers do you have?" Ana asks.

"Only a few. That I know of, at least," I reply. "I've always been able to move things with my mind, I can use telepathy, and I recently found out that I can also cast shields. But, I'm not able to just summon one on command, yet. There has to be some sort of danger."

"That's so cool!" Ana exclaims. She goes on to tell that aside from fire, she can also use telepathy, and even ice.

Ana pauses, staring down at my arm. The one enclosed in a cast. "There's also another thing that I can do," she says. "Here, give me your arm."

"Why? What is it?"

"I want to show you."

I'm not sure what to expect, but slowly, I move my broken arm towards her. She tells me to set it across her lap, so I do. Ana takes hold of my exposed fingers and closes her eyes, taking on an almost meditative appearance. Soon, a warm, tingling sensation makes its way up my forearm and stays there for nearly two minutes before gradually dissipating. When everything feels normal again, Ana opens her eyes and releases my fingers.

I stare down at my arm. "What happened?"

"I healed it. I've healed a sprained ankle that I got once, so I figured that this wouldn't be much different. My dad has a hard time trusting my healing abilities, but I assure you that it worked."

I wiggle my fingers around, which is the best I can do to test out my arm. Nothing hurts or feels weird at all. "Whoa. Now, _that_ is amazing," I say in awe. My pitching arm is back to its old self again, and I can actually use my baseball bat if I end up needing it again on this journey. "Thank you so much!"

"It's all right," Ana murmurs, glancing away.

"So, if it's healed, how are we supposed to get the cast off?" I say, still examining my arm.

"You can try and soak it off with water and vinegar," Lloyd suggests. "Then some simple kitchen shears should remove the rest."

"Great idea! See, Lloyd? What would I do without you." I pause, watching him rub his spectacle lenses with a corner of his t-shirt. "You can join us over here, you know. You've barely said anything all night."

"Well, all you guys are talking about is PSI, and I don't really have much to add."

"But, Lloyd, you're practically a genius. How about you tell us about some of your inventions?" I turn to Ana. "He built a friggin _time machine_ once."

"Really?" Ana asks as she looks to Lloyd, astonished. "Yes! Tell us about your inventions!"

He puts his glasses back on. "I'm sure that you'd all like to learn about magnetic-flux conduits and circuit design, am I right?"

Ummm. . . . I'm not quite sure what to say to that.

"Cookies will be done in five minutes!" Ana's dad calls.

"Okay!" she yells back. "Can we get a bowl of water and vinegar with that?"

"What?"

"I healed Ninten's arm, and we need a bowl of water and vinegar so he can soak the cast off."

I hear water begin running from the faucet, and then Pastor Dan says, "Ana, sometimes I'm just not sure what I'm going to do with you."

So, five minutes later, Pastor Dan enters the room with a large plate of cookies that he sets down onto the table. He retreats into the kitchen and comes back with a plastic tub of water and vinegar for my arm. "All right, cookies for everyone, and a tub of water and vinegar for this young man." He sets it between me and Ana on the couch. We keep it steady so it won't tip over.

Pastor Dan then points a finger at Ana and chuckles. "Remind me to buy a new bottle of vinegar when I go to the store tomorrow."

"Sure, Dad." Ana laughs.

"Well, I'm off to bed." He takes a cookie from the plate and looks from me to Lloyd. "You two are welcome to stay the night, and Ana will show you where the guest bedroom is." He points at Ana again. "Twelve-thirty. No later. Got it?"

"Yep!" Ana affirms.

"Don't let that spill." Pastor Dan gestures to the tub between us.

"We won't. And Dad? Thanks for everything. Really."

"All right, sweetie." He pats Ana on the back and leaves the room.

And, so, here I am. Talking and laughing with my newfound friends while eating cookies and soaking my arm in a tub of water and vinegar. Right now, I feel as if all my worries and confusion have washed away. I see it in Lloyd and Ana, too. Not a single wave of sadness crosses Ana's face as she speaks and listens, and Lloyd has joined us on the couch, chatting as if his shyness and history of bullying never existed.

I feel as if I've found new strength in these other kids, and I believe that they feel the same. If I know one thing, it's that those aliens better watch out, because if they think that they can take _us_ down. . . well, they've got another thing coming.

Sitting between Lloyd and Ana, and glancing at them from side to side, I find it so difficult to believe that I've only just met them. Because it already feels like I've known them for years.


End file.
